


Here I Am, Honey

by luckie_dee



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 62,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Blaine Anderson visits Kellerman's Mountain Home with his family in the summer of 1963, he isn't expecting anything more than days in the sun and games of croquet, but when he and his cousin Rachel meet the staff dance instructors, his plans get thrown for a loop. Blaine's family vacation might just end up being the time of his life. A Klaine Dirty Dancing AU. Title from Solomon Burke's "Cry to Me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this story to LiveJournal April-June 2012. I did make some nods to canon, so there will be spoilers through season 3. Finchel appears in the background, but the story is not about them and they don't receive a lot of focus.
> 
> As with the movie, this story does include significant allusions to abortion. 
> 
> This fic is very AU. I'm going to ask you to suspend your disbelief about several things, the largest of which is this: Finn Hudson is a good dancer. A really good dancer. 
> 
> Also, Cooper Anderson wasn't even a twinkle in RIB+'s eyes when I plotted this fic out, so he doesn't exist here. Sorry, Coop. :(

Warm summer air buffeted Blaine’s face as it streamed in through the open windows of his Uncle Hiram’s new Dynamic 88. Blaine had spent the past hour dully watching the scenery of upstate New York slip by, having grown tired of reading and given up any hope of falling asleep long ago. On the radio, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons were singing “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” while at the other end of the bench seat, Rachel was humming something completely different, as she often did when the music wasn’t quite to her liking. The discordant sound had driven Blaine crazy when he’d first moved in with the Berrys, but now, after four years, it only registered as background noise.

Background noise that stopped abruptly as Rachel sat up straight and pointed out the window to a roadside billboard. “Look!” she exclaimed. “We’re almost there!”  
  
Blaine turned just in time to see the words  _Kellerman’s Mountain Home_ before the sign was lost behind them. In the passenger’s seat, Blaine’s Aunt Shelby lowered the radio volume and angled herself slightly toward the back, smiling. “I don’t know about you kids, but I’m definitely going to be glad to get out of this car,” she said.  
  
Blaine tamped down on the brief flare of annoyance that he felt any time Shelby called them  _kids_. He hadn’t felt like a kid in years, but it was a ridiculous thing to be upset about. She’d be calling them kids when they were in their forties, at this rate. “Yes, absolutely,” he responded, since Shelby was looking right at him with an expectant smile.  
  
It was the truth. The ten-hour drive from Lima, broken into two days with an overnight stay in Erie, had been exciting in prospect and painful in execution. In the end, it just seemed to remind Blaine that he was always biding his time until  _something_ — senior year, graduation, this vacation — that was never quite  _it_ when he got there. Blaine had the uncomfortable suspicion that before long, he’d start counting down the days until their month-long stay at Kellerman’s was over. Which, of course, would mean that he could start counting down the days until he left for New York University.  
  
As Hiram turned the car down the winding road that would lead them to the hotel, Rachel pulled out a hand mirror and a comb to fuss with her bangs, which had been blown around by the wind. Instinctively, Blaine reached up to pat his own hair, which wasn’t strictly necessary. It was so curly that it defied all but the shortest of crew cuts, so he preferred to wear it longer and keep it meticulously slicked down. He glanced down at his clothes, wrinkled from a day’s worth of travel, but there wasn’t much he could do about them.  
  
The road brought them along the top of a hill that overlooked the huge main lodge at Kellerman’s and the bustling activity of check-in day. All along the winding drive that descended toward the building, families and their luggage spilled out of cars into the bright sunshine. Beyond the lodge, the land sloped down until it disappeared into a large, blue lake, nestled in between a series of pine-covered slopes. It was even prettier than the picture postcard that was taped up over Rachel’s vanity mirror back home.  
  
Hiram found a place to pull over, and as soon as they were stopped, Rachel was out of the car, looking around with excited eyes. Blaine followed more slowly, stretching his stiff limbs. He swiveled his head when he heard someone calling his uncle’s name — a heavyset man in a gray suit, trailed by a teenage boy wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the Kellerman’s logo. The man directed him to begin collecting the Berrys’ luggage, and then turned back to Hiram and said, “Well, it only took six years, but I finally got you up on my mountain.”  
  
Hiram smiled, lightly resting an arm on Shelby’s shoulder. “Max, so good to see you again. You remember my wife, Shelby, and that’s Rachel and Blaine.” Hiram pointed toward where Blaine and Rachel were hovering near the car. Rachel grinned, bounced on her toes, and waved. “How’s the blood pressure?” Hiram continued.  
  
Max Kellerman clutched Hiram’s hand in a firm shake, then looked over at Blaine and Rachel. “I want you kids to know,” he said, his sudden seriousness not unlike some of Rachel’s dramatics, “that if it weren’t for this man, I’d be standing here dead.”  
  
“Oh, my!” Rachel said sympathetically. Blaine just gave him a tight smile.  
  
Max turned back to Hiram. “I’m wonderful! Never better. Except when I was in your care, of course. Now, I reserved the best cabin for you and your family. I’ll make sure your luggage ends up in the right place, and in the meantime, you should all head over to the gazebo. There’s a beginner’s merengue class in half an hour. We have a great teacher — she used to be a Rockette!”  
  
Rachel was already starting to bounce excitedly again. Blaine was about to decline, the excuse that he really didn’t feel like dancing after being in the car for the better part of the day already on the tip of his tongue, when Shelby spoke up. “That sounds wonderful, Max. It will help us get moving again after all that driving.” She smiled brightly at her husband, then at Blaine and Rachel, and Blaine knew that there was no escape.  
  
“How fun!” Rachel exclaimed, tucking her arm into Blaine’s as they started to follow the boy, who had loaded their luggage onto a cart, toward their cabin for a quick change of clothes.  
  
“Why are you so excited, ballerina?” Blaine grumbled quietly, not wanting his aunt, who was chatting politely with their guide, to overhear. Hiram had left them to move the car to the guest parking lot.  
  
“Blaine,” Rachel admonished, “you know that I enjoy  _all forms_ of dance, not just ballet.” Blaine knew it was true. Rachel loved school dances and had spent many evenings doing her own stiff versions of the twist and the mashed potato in McKinley’s gymnasium, always finding it a bit difficult to put aside all her years of formal training. He hummed noncommittally.  
  
Rachel was eying him curiously. “Is something wrong?” she asked.  
  
“No,” Blaine replied quickly. “Just — worn out from traveling, that’s all.”  
  
“Okay,” Rachel said dubiously. She watched him for another moment, then squeezed his arm. “Maybe the dance class will perk you up.”  
  
Blaine had serious doubts on that score, but nonetheless he soon found himself at the largest gazebo he’d ever seen, stomping back and forth with assorted Kellerman’s guests, most of whom were his aunt and uncle’s age or older. Beside him, Rachel was beaming and stepping precisely in time with the music. At the front of the group, the instructor — Blaine thought she’d introduced herself as Quinn, an unusual name — was moving with more style and flair than any of her students, swishing the skirt of her red dancing dress back and forth. She called out instructions loudly, including imploring the ladies to shake their “maracas,” which made Rachel laugh and Blaine blush.  
  
“All right, men,” Quinn shouted, “follow me into a round robin! Ladies, take the inner circle. Start the train!” The dancers snaked into two lines, the men circling the women. Blaine shuffled along, placing his hands gingerly on the shoulders of the grandfatherly man in front of him. “Okay! Now, ladies, when I say stop, you’re going to find the man of your dreams…”  
  
The circles twined around each other for a moment while Quinn, who had stepped out of the dance, waited. She had a rather blank, subdued expression on her face now that she wasn’t putting on a show, Blaine noticed. He could also see Rachel circling closer and hoped valiantly that he’d just get to dance with her.  
  
“Stop!” Quinn cried.  
  
Rachel turned to beam up at her father, who had been just behind Blaine, and Blaine found himself facing a tiny elderly woman wearing an enormous, flowered sun visor. “Hello, handsome,” she greeted, raising her hand for him to take.  
  
Blaine was nothing if not proud of the manners that he’d meticulously cultivated over the past few years, and he relied on them to gallantly lead his partner across the floor and through the dance.  
  
Twenty-nine days.

\- // -

  
After their first dinner in the main dining hall — a busy, noisy affair — Blaine and his family returned to their cabin to unpack. Blaine finished stowing his belongings quickly, as did Hiram, who retired to a comfortable chair in the main room with the day’s newspaper.  
  
Sensing the chance to escape for a while, Blaine changed into shorts, a McKinley t-shirt, and his tennis shoes. Blaine loved the Berrys, and he would never, never stop being grateful for everything they had done for him, but he seemed to crave time to himself more than any of them combined. He’d originally joined the McKinley cross country team to pacify his uncle; now, although his days on the team were over, he’d continued his home training routine. He enjoyed the solitude running afforded him, along with the way that he could push a little farther and a little farther until his legs and his lungs and his mind were completely, utterly exhausted and there was no room for anything else.  
  
“I’m going for a run before it gets too dark,” he announced, heading back out into the cabin’s main room.  
  
Rachel popped her head out from the tiny bedroom next to Blaine’s. “Now? But we borrowed a puzzle from the lodge. Daddy and I are going to start it when I’m done unpacking. We can all work on it together.”  
  
“Maybe I can help when I get back,” Blaine said. “I want to take a look around.”  
  
Rachel pouted for a moment. “Well, don’t be gone too long,” she ordered, disappearing again into her room with a flip of her ponytail.  
  
Hiram, who had tipped down a corner of the newspaper to watch the exchange, smiled at Blaine as he headed for the door. “Don’t go far,” he warned. “I don’t want you getting lost in the woods on the first day of our vacation.”  
  
“I’ll probably just head toward the lodge,” Blaine said, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Maybe look at the lake. I won’t be long.”  
  
“Have fun,” Hiram said, turning back to the news.  
  
Blaine slipped out the door of the cabin. He paused for a few moments on the porch to stretch, taking deep breaths of the evening air, which was cooling and heavily scented with pine. He clattered down the steps and broke into a jog, heading first along a path that would take him toward the water.  
  
Unfortunately, the sun had already dropped behind one of the mountains, so the lake lay flat and dark beneath a graying sky that was barely suffused with purple. There were few other guests out and about — Blaine supposed that most people were unpacking and settling in, much like his own family was. He jogged steadily, not really pushing himself, falling into a practiced rhythm of breath and footsteps.  
  
As the sky continued to darken, Blaine turned back toward the main house, looming higher up the hill upon which the resort was scattered. By the time he reached it, he was already panting for breath, although he was used to running much longer distances. Blaine dropped into a walk as he reached the stairs up to the building’s huge, wraparound porch. He hoped it was just the altitude affecting him — he didn’t want to contemplate losing his conditioning so soon after graduation.  
  
Blaine paused at the railing, looking out over the dark water, now a bit distant. The sky had lost its purplish tinge, and everything seemed to be waiting for the darkness to wrap it up completely until the morning. Blaine breathed in the scent of the pine forest again, now mingled with the leftover food smells from dinner. Focusing on the former, he took a few moments to bask in the peace and quiet.  
  
It wasn’t  _completely_ quiet, though. A distant, whining buzz of a voice kept worming its way into his reverie. It was just quiet enough that he couldn’t make out what it was saying, but just loud enough that he couldn’t ignore it. With a sigh, Blaine broke away from the railing and crept toward a nearby door, which was open to reveal the dining room. Blaine peeked around the frame.  
  
Max Kellerman stood in the center of a small cluster of young men wearing white jackets. Blaine recognized them as those that the waiters had worn at that evening’s dinner service.  
  
“Since we do have several new faces joining us for the rest of the summer, I want to give you all one more reminder,” Mr. Kellerman was saying. He looked around the circle, meeting eyes here and there as though he were trying to drive a point home. “There are two kinds of help here. You’re all college guys. I only hire respectable, college men for my wait staff. You know why?”  
  
Mr. Kellerman paused, but no one spoke. Blaine waited quietly; he couldn’t imagine what the answer might be.  
  
“This is a  _family place_ ,” Mr. Kellerman continued. “That means you keep your fingers out of the water, your hair out of the soup, and show the goddamn daughters a good time. All the daughters. Even the  _dogs_.” Blaine frowned. “Schlepp ‘em out to the terrace; show ‘em the stars. Romance ‘em any way you want —”  
  
“Got that, guys?” a distinct and unfamiliar voice interrupted, laced with sarcasm. A new group of young men was filing in, and this one looked very different — they were wearing jeans, t-shirts, carrying musical instruments. Instinctively, Blaine shrank back, afraid that they would be able to see him lurking.  
  
“Hold it!” Mr. Kellerman barked as the group made to keep walking through the room. “Well, well. If it isn’t the  _entertainment staff_.” He said it like it was something bad, as though he were referring to the dirt beneath his shoes rather than his own employees.  
  
The group shuffled to a stop and Blaine leaned forward again to get a better look. His attention was drawn first to the tallest of the group, impossible to ignore because he stood several inches above any of the others. Next, his eyes flicked to the young man standing beside him, and all his thoughts about how he would barely come up to the taller man’s shoulders was forgotten.  
  
This was the one who had spoken, and while the man beside him was very tall, he was very — different. He was dressed much like the others in dark denims and a well-fitted green t-shirt, a pair of sunglasses tucked into its neckline. Unlike the others, he was carrying a leather jacket over one shoulder and his hair was impeccably styled, pomped away from his face. His skin was pale and his features were striking, but it was more than just that. It was everything all together, the slope of his neck to his shoulder and the way he stood, defiant as a challenge, but somehow still wary.  
  
Blaine stared, and then caught himself suddenly, realizing that he had leaned farther and farther forward and was almost in plain sight. He snapped back a few inches, his heart pounding.  
  
Mr. Kellerman was still speaking. “Let’s review your own set of rules. First of all,  _you_  will knock off the wise ass attitude.” That seemed to be specifically directed to green-shirt-and-leather-jacket, and then he turned to the taller man. “And you will both dance with the guests — teach them the mambo, the cha cha, anything they pay for, but no conversation and no  _funny business_. That goes for all of you. Keep your hands to yourselves!”  
  
Grumbles reverberated through the little group, and most of them started to move by again with rolled eyes. One of them spoke loudly enough for Blaine to hear: “…always the same, maybe a little ass in the woods…”  
  
“Watch it, Peterson,” Mr. Kellerman snapped. He wheeled back around to face the waiters. “As soon as this room is set for breakfast, you’re all dismissed.” Looking flustered, he marched away, heading toward the kitchen.  
  
One of the waiters, looking slyly up from where he had begun folding a napkin, said, “Think you can keep that straight, Finn? What you can and can’t lay your hands on?”  
  
The taller man glowered, but it was green-shirt-and-leather-jacket who spoke up. “I think we all know it’s you that puts your pickle on everyone’s plate, Puckerman,” he scoffed. Blaine’s eyes widened.  
  
The waiter ignored him. “Cat got your tongue, Hudson?”  
  
“Just keep folding,  _college boy_ , and leave the hard stuff to us,” the taller man — Finn? — finally retaliated. His hand swiped out, knocking the carefully folded napkins to the ground, before he turned to follow the others.  
  
Blaine hastily moved back from the door, leaning against the wall beside it. He’d long since recovered from his run, but his breath was coming heavily just the same. He stared blankly out at the dark lake for a moment, and then pushed away from the wall to move as quickly and quietly as he could away from the main house. However, instead of following the route that would take him directly back to the cabin, he traced the paths that he’d run earlier in reverse, walking this time, curling his arms around his stomach when he realized just how chilly the night air had become.  
  
Blaine knew who he was; he wasn’t living in denial or ignorance. It didn’t surprise him that he found the young man in the green shirt attractive, but he was surprised by  _how_ attractive he found the young man in the green shirt.  
  
On some level, he always knew that things were different for him than for the other boys at McKinley. He wasn’t at all interested in watching the girls in their cheerleading outfits. At Rachel’s insistence, he took her friends to school dances and the movies, and although he’d had fun, there was never anything  _special_ about any of those experiences. Instead, he’d had to contend with confusing and embarrassing dreams that he’d instinctively known to keep to himself.  
  
Then, about a month into his junior year at McKinley, everything became crystal clear, in one clean, fell swoop that came completely by surprise. It only happened because he was forced to rummage through the desk in Hiram’s home office. His uncle had been called away to deal with an emergency with a patient, and he and Rachel needed to find the signed permission slips for the field trip that their history class was taking to the Allen County Museum. The task had fallen to him while Rachel finished getting ready for the day.  
  
When Blaine pulled open the second drawer on the right side, he saw it: a slim magazine, its cover dominated by a black and white picture of a man wearing a dark sweater and a white collared shirt. In the upper left corner, under a large block reading “one,” were the words  _the homosexual viewpoint._ He’d heard the word before, just a whisper that no one talked about, an idea not fully formed in his mind, and one that he hadn’t dared to apply to himself. Not exactly. He hadn’t even known if it was  _real_.  
  
Blaine reached for the magazine cautiously, glancing over his shoulder and listening for a moment to make sure that Rachel was still upstairs. He drew it out of the drawer. As he flipped open the cover, a piece of paper fluttered out and landed on the floor. Blaine bent quickly to retrieve it.  
  
 _H —_  
 _Great edition. Really moving story on page 19._  
 _Miss you already._  
 _— L_  
  
Blaine stared dumbly at the words, which fuzzed and spun a little. It all meant… it all meant… He dropped both the magazine and the note onto the desk, and then gripped the edge tightly, trying to get a handle on his thoughts. He found that he was holding his breath and forced himself to take in a few gulps of air. When his vision cleared, his blank gaze was trained on the magazine’s cover. He lifted it again, flipping weakly through the pages, catching titles like  _The Homosexual Stereotype_ and  _In the Darkness a Strange Angel_. Remembering the note, he turned to page 19.  
  
It was titled  _Letter to a G.I._ It was written to a man named Dave, and was from a man named Brian. He couldn’t make his eyes focus enough to read it through from beginning to end, but phrases jumped out —  _handsome boy, locked in each other’s arms, my love_.  
  
“Blaine?” Rachel called. Even though she was still upstairs, Blaine dropped the magazine like it was burning his hands and flung himself away from the desk.  
  
“Yeah?” he shouted back, his voice coming out strangled.  
  
“Did you find them?”  
  
It took him a moment to remember that she was talking about the permission slips. “No… no, not yet.”  
  
Rachel made a frustrated noise. “I’ll help you look in a minute. I’m almost ready.”  
  
“Okay,” Blaine responded. He waited for a moment to give her time to walk back into her room, then hurriedly stuffed the note back into the magazine and the magazine back into the drawer, slamming it shut for good measure. Moving to the left side of the desk, he yanked open the first drawer and found the permission slips on top. He breathed a sigh of relief and rushed out of the office, meeting Rachel on the stairs. “Found them,” he said, holding up the papers.  
  
Rachel snatched her slip out of his hand. “Oh, good! Thank you, Blaine. Are you ready to go?”  
  
Blaine looked at her for a moment, perky and polished and unaware that his world was suddenly spinning upside down and backwards. Now that he’d escaped Hiram’s office, he felt woozy enough that he might fall down the stairs. He was… he was… “You know what, Rach? I… don’t feel well all of a sudden. Do you mind catching the bus today?”  
  
“Oh?” Rachel said, raising a hand to his forehead. “You do look a little pale. You don’t feel warm, though.”  
  
Blaine nodded. “It’s not that. It’s more… more of a headache. I’m — kind of dizzy.”  
  
“But, Blaine — you’ll miss the field trip!”  
  
Only Rachel would care about his missing a visit to an old house to look at a bunch of dusty documents. “Take notes for me?” he asked. “Especially if there’s going to be something about it on the test?”  
  
Rachel’s face was still crinkled up in concern. “Are you going to call Daddy?”  
  
“I’ll have to so that he can excuse me from school,” Blaine said. “Hurry up or you’ll miss the bus.”  
  
“Okay,” she finally said. “You go lie down. Get some sleep.”  
  
Blaine forced a smile. “I will.”  
  
Rachel backed down the last few steps and toward the door. “I’ll take lots of notes!” she promised, flashing a bright grin. Blaine could already see her warming to the idea of being Blaine’s field trip savior. “It will be just as good as if you had been there yourself.”  
  
“Thanks, Rach.”  
  
With a delighted wave, Rachel pranced from the house to walk to the bus stop.  
  
Blaine had spent that day and the next lying in his bed, alternating between tossing fitfully and staring motionlessly at the ceiling or the wall until his muscles felt like they were locked in place for good. Hiram had been unable to figure out what was wrong, and recommended bed rest, good food (which Blaine picked at), and Anacin (which Blaine gladly took, because his thoughts had grown to a relentless, pounding headache in no time).  
  
It was one thing to suspect, and another thing to know and acknowledge. He didn’t like girls the way the other boys did, and his life would never be the same as theirs. Underneath the sucking whirlpool of his thoughts, he was surprised to find a growing anger. He didn’t need another reason to feel different. There were already enough oddities about him to keep him at arm’s length from the rest of his classmates. His father had brought both Blaine and his mother back from the Philippines after the war, so they all knew that he wasn’t white — not completely, no matter how much he might look like he was. He’d missed half a year of school after his parents had died, which made him the transfer student who was a year older than everyone else. To top it off, he lived with and spent most of his time with Rachel Berry — and as much as Blaine loved her, he knew that Rachel’s attitude hadn’t endeared her to the student population in general.  
  
But more than what it meant for him now, Blaine worried about his future. Over the past few months, he’d been thinking a lot about his goals, which included New York University School of Law and (maybe, some day) a family.  _Maybe I just haven’t met the right girl yet_ , he’d told himself. With his head pillowed on his arms and his mind whirling, it made him chuckle mirthlessly. What now? He could still go to law school, of course, but could he really deceive an innocent woman into living a lie? ( _Like his uncle had done to Shelby?_ he couldn’t help but wonder.) He knew now that there were other men like him, but that they needed to live secret lives. How would he ever go about finding them? Did he even want to?  
  
Unable to feign illness forever, Blaine got out of bed the next day and went back to school. He thought about quitting cross country, but he didn’t. He thought about quitting glee club, but he didn’t. Those were the things that he liked, the places he felt normal, where a few people called him a friend and meant it. He thought about talking to his uncle, but he shied away every time.  
  
With few other choices, Blaine went back to living his life as it had been since his parents died — he attended classes, studied, ran, and sang as usual, polite and distant from his classmates. But something was always a little different.  
  
And now  _this_ , Blaine thought, dragging his feet as he approached his family’s cabin. He’d never had such a visceral reaction before, not to Rudy, the star of the basketball team, or Ron, the senior class treasurer. What was so different about the one with the jacket? Maybe he was just becoming more deviant as he got older, Blaine thought gloomily as he climbed the porch stairs. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to see very much of him.  
  
Inside, his family greeted him cheerfully. He faked a smile, washed up, and sat down to work on Rachel’s puzzle.


	2. Chapter 2

If any of his family members noticed that Blaine was much quieter than usual at breakfast the next morning, none of them made any comment. Blaine was fairly sure that none of them did; they were all too busy commenting on the quantity and the quality of both their sleep and the food. Unfortunately, Blaine didn’t have much to add to the conversation. He’d slept fitfully, and although his pancakes and scrambled eggs were delicious, he was doing more picking than actual eating.  
  
After Hiram, Shelby, and Rachel had eaten to repletion and Blaine had covered half of his plate with a napkin, they were interrupted by Mr. Kellerman, who approached with one of the waiters in tow. Blaine found himself sitting up curiously when he saw who it was — the same one who’d needled the tall dancing instructor the night before. “Hiram, there’s someone I’d like you and your family to meet,” Mr. Kellerman said as he drew to a stop beside their table. “Noah, this is Dr. and Mrs. Berry, and Blaine and Rachel. I wanted to make sure that you all were introduced to Noah Puckerman. He’s studying at Yeshiva University.”  
  
Hiram looked up with interest and said something to the waiter in Yiddish, to which Noah responded, “ _A sheynem dank_.” Hiram all but beamed in response.  
  
Never one to pass up an opportunity to brag, Shelby spoke up next. “You’ll have to keep an eye out for both of these two when you go back to New York,” she said, motioning to Blaine and Rachel. “Blaine will be going to NYU in the fall and Rachel is starting at Juilliard.”  
  
Noah looked straight past Blaine to smile at Rachel. “Ah,” he said, deliberately holding her eye, “beautiful  _and_ talented.”  
  
Rachel blushed while her parents both smiled indulgently. Conversely, Blaine narrowed his eyes, focusing on Mr. Kellerman’s hand, which had moved to clap Noah’s shoulder. He looked back up at Noah’s face, trying to discern if he was being sincere or if he just thought that Rachel was one of the  _dogs_.  
  
“Now, Noah,” Mr. Kellerman said jovially, “the Berrys are my special guests for the next four weeks. I want you to make sure that they have everything that they need.”  
  
“Of course,” Noah said, his eyes roaming back to Rachel. “Is there…  anything you want right now?” Blaine bristled.  
  
“Yes, is there anything that we can get you? No?” Max asked, and everyone at the table demurred. “In that case, Noah, it looks like the Schuesters need more coffee. And —  _hey_  — no, don’t put those tables together!” He called, moving off as suddenly as he’d appeared. Noah nodded and departed as well, but not before shooting one last significant glance at Rachel, who ducked her head bashfully.  
  
“My, what an attentive staff they have here,” Shelby commented, watching Rachel. Then she turned to her husband and asked, “Hiram, have you given any thought to what you’d like to do today?”  
  
Hiram smiled at her over his coffee cup. “I’m sure that whatever you have on the agenda will be lovely, my dear.”  
  
As her parents discussed their plans for the day — which seemed to consist primarily of “enjoying the fresh mountain air” in the morning and trying out the golf course in the afternoon — Rachel collected herself and glanced over at Blaine. “What do  _you_ want to do today?” she asked. “I assume you don’t want to golf with Mom and Daddy.”  
  
Blaine snorted quietly and shook his head. “No, no. I — hadn’t really thought about it, actually. Why? Is there something that you had in mind?”  
  
Rachel sat up a little straighter. “Well, first I’d like to take a walk and look around. I know you went running last night, but I haven’t seen anything other than our cabin and a few rooms here and the gazebo. Will you come with me? Maybe we’ll find something fun along the way?”  
  
“That sounds just… fine,” Blaine said, aiming for some level of enthusiasm, but the end of his sentence was cut off by the return of Mr. Kellerman, who was dragging yet another young man up to their table. This one was dressed in a suit, clearly not a member of the wait staff. He was a bit doughy, wore thick horn-rimmed glasses, and was obviously having a harder time managing his hair than Blaine.  
  
“Good! Good! You haven’t left yet. There’s one more person I want to introduce you to.” Mr. Kellerman put an arm around the young man and presented him to the table, puffing up with pride. “This is my nephew, Jacob Ben Israel. He goes to the Cornell School of Hotel Management, and in the summer, he’s my right-hand man.”  
  
“Hello,” Jacob said. His eyes circled the table until they, too, came to rest on Rachel. This time, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and only managed a small, tight-lipped smile. “I hope you’re all planning on coming to the social dance in the main hall tonight. I’m in charge of planning the evening entertainment for the weekend, and it’s going to be the best yet.” His voice was thin and nasal.  
  
“Of course. That sounds lovely,” Shelby said warmly.  
  
“And will you save me a dance?” Jacob asked, looking at Rachel.  
  
Her eyes darted around, catching on her parents’ expectant faces. She glanced over at Blaine, who shook his head a bit and gave a tiny shrug. “Of course,” she finally said. “How nice of you to ask.”  
  
Jacob stood up a little straighter, his face almost smug. “I look forward to it.”  
  
“Wonderful!” Mr. Kellerman exclaimed, tightening his arm around Jacob’s shoulder. “I always like to see the young people having a good time. Now, I don’t want to tell you how to enjoy your vacation, but it’s a beautiful day! Get out in the sunshine!” He exchanged a few final pleasantries with Hiram and Shelby, then led Jacob away.  
  
While her parents were talking to Mr. Kellerman, Rachel gave Blaine a glare. Blaine held up his hands in innocence. “What was I supposed to do?” he asked. “Just be polite and dance with him once, Rachel. It won’t be that bad.”  
  
“Maybe I’ll pretend to have a headache and not go to the social at all,” she countered, pouting.  
  
Blaine just looked at her with raised eyebrows. He generally had a fairly high tolerance for her emotional crises, but there were some days when he wondered if she ever realized just how silly they could be.  
  
Rachel backed down quickly, muttering, “Oh,  _fine._ I’ll go,  _and_  I won’t even say another word about it all day. Now come on!” She bounced to her feet, her mood already shifting rapidly. “Let’s go take a look around!”

\- / / -

True to her word, Rachel didn’t complain once about the impending evening — not while she and Blaine investigated the grounds, not during lunch with her parents, not while they watched several of their fellow vacationers play a game of softball, and not even when they frittered away the rest of the afternoon reading on the lounge chairs surrounding Kellerman’s spacious indoor pool.  
  
Watching her now, dancing an awkward fox trot with Jacob — already their second dance of the evening — Blaine felt certain that she was saving up each and every grievance for afterward, when he was sure to hear them all. The music ended, and Rachel drew back, clapping politely for the band and already edging away. Unfortunately, she wasn’t quite quick enough to escape before the next song began, and Blaine heard Jacob exclaim, “Mambo! Yeah!” and grab for Rachel’s hand. She leaned around Jacob a little to frown at Blaine. He gave her a helpless shrug in return, and mentally vowed to cut in if she wasn’t able to get away before the next song began.  
  
A sudden twirl of pink caught the corner of Blaine’s eye, and his attention was quickly drawn to a couple near the middle of the floor that he was fairly sure hadn’t been there before. He craned to see around the other dancers and recognized Finn and Quinn, the tall dance instructor and the one who’d led the merengue class, moving together with sharp precision. Blaine watched wide-eyed as they spun around the dance floor, catching the attention of more and more of the guests, a widening circle of empty space growing around them as the others stepped aside to observe.  
  
Blaine was so engrossed that he was startled a moment later when Rachel spoke close at his side. “Who are they?” she asked, making no attempt to hide her staring. He hadn’t noticed that the other guests had moved back so far that Rachel and Jacob had been bumped toward the sidelines. They weren’t dancing anymore, but Jacob was still standing beside her.  
  
“Oh,  _them_ ,” he answered dismissively. “They’re the dance people. They’re here to, uh, keep the guests happy.”  
  
Finn dipped Quinn deeply and then moved her into a twirling spin.  
  
“They shouldn’t be showing off with each other. That’s not going to sell lessons,” Jacob muttered.  
  
Blaine disagreed, but he didn’t bother saying so. He was fairly certain that Rachel would take his side as well — she’d gone completely motionless and didn’t appear to be breathing as she continued to watch. Quinn spun away from Finn, then lunged back towards him. While the crowd gasped, he grabbed her and flipped her into the air almost over his head, then caught her and dropped her into a dramatic hold.  
  
It was then that Blaine noticed two things: first, the young man who had captured his attention the night before, now dressed in a neat suit and watching the routine with a critical eye from across the room, and second, Mr. Kellerman striding toward the dance floor and making a sharp “cut” motion across his throat. When they saw him, Finn and Quinn stuttered to a halt, and then they each moved quickly to invite a guest from the crowd to dance. The floor around them began to fill with couples again. Only then did Rachel relax and sigh audibly.  
  
Hiram and Shelby swung by as the room returned to normal. “Very impressive, aren’t they?” Hiram asked. “Having fun?”  
  
“Yes, Dr. Berry!” Jacob replied enthusiastically. “Unfortunately, though, I have to leave soon. I’m in charge of the games tonight.” Relief blossomed across Rachel’s face, which was quickly erased when Jacob turned back to her. “Saaaay… maybe you’d like to help get things started?”  
  
“Sure, she would!” Hiram said. Rachel turned to look at him over her shoulder, her face a mask of disbelief. “Go on, honey, don’t be shy.”  
  
“I’ll come with you,” Blaine interjected, and it was Jacob’s turn to glare. “I’d like to see the games,” he finished weakly, hoping it didn’t sound too much like a lie.  
  
Which is how Blaine found himself sitting in the front row of the surprisingly full auditorium, watching a man wearing a turban and a cape saw Rachel in half. From her position inside the magician’s box, she had swiveled her head around until she’d somehow — despite the stage lights — located Blaine, and she was staring at him murderously.  
  
The man paused in his sawing and leaned over Rachel. “This will only hurt for a minute! You have Blue Cross, right?” he said, giving the audience an exaggerated wink. Rachel rolled her eyes and looked tempestuously up at the ceiling for the remainder of the stunt.  
  
As if that weren’t bad enough, just when Rachel was safely returned to the stage and her good spirits were starting to revive in the shine of the spotlight, the emcee called her over to the microphone. “Sweetheart, because you were such a good sport, we wanted to give you a little prize,” he said gallantly, indicating the large box on the table that had just been wheeled out beside him. “Here you go!” he exclaimed, and he thrust a large, white duck with a blue ribbon tied around its neck into Rachel’s hands. She held on but recoiled as the duck flapped its wings and struggled against her grip. The audience burst into applause and laughter while she rushed off the stage.  
  
Blaine rose and slipped out of the auditorium, and Rachel stomped out to meet him several minutes later, a scowl etched into her features as she yanked her cardigan sweater back on. Crossing her arms severely, she stopped in front of him and glowered. Blaine wanted to be sympathetic — he really did — but what came out of his mouth was, “Where’s your new friend?”  
  
Rachel’s eyes narrowed and Blaine actually shrank back a little. “That is  _not funny_ , Blaine. It…  _relieved itself_ on my arm before I could give it to someone else backstage.”  
  
Blaine bit his lip to keep from smiling.  
  
“It’s not funny! I just spent five minutes scrubbing  _that_ off my arm. What if it had gotten on my dress? This entire evening was a disaster!” She turned on her heel and flounced toward the door.  
  
Blaine hurried after her. “Rachel. Rach, come on… I’m sorry, okay? I was being insensitive.”  
  
Rachel whirled around just before reaching the door. “I’ll say!” she snapped. “For the entire rest of our time here, I’m going to be known as the girl with the goose!”  
  
“It was a duck, actually,” Blaine corrected her. She threw her hands in the air and slammed her way out of the door. Blaine ran after her again. “Oh, come on, Rachel. I’m sorry! But honestly, no one will even remember in a day or two; there’s so much going on here.”  
  
But Rachel didn’t break pace. “Let’s just get back,” she grumbled.  
  
Blaine trailed along beside Rachel as she stomped back to the cabin, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Every so often, she muttered something under her breath, usually along the lines of “never so embarrassed in my life.” After living with Rachel for four years, Blaine found that very hard to believe, but he knew better than to mention it.   
  
“Rach?” he asked tentatively as they approached the stairs leading to the porch of their family’s cabin. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to be this upset when you go in there?”  
  
Rachel sighed, finally dropping her shoulders, which had been up around her ears the whole way back. “No,” she admitted. “It would just make my parents upset, and they would probably talk to Max in the morning and cause a fuss.” She drew to a stop at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the glow of lamplight from the windows. “I don’t want to do anything to ruin our vacation.”  
  
“We could keep walking,” Blaine suggested. “It might help. I know you don’t like to run, but it always helps me cool off when I’m angry. It’s kind of the same thing.”  
  
The corner of Rachel’s mouth twitched up a little. “Okay. Thanks, Blaine.”  
  
“Just a sec.” Blaine shrugged out of his dinner jacket and removed his tie, then crept up the stairs to stack them neatly on a chair. “Better for walking,” he explained as he returned to Rachel.  
  
“Won’t you be cold?” she asked, tugging her sweater a little tighter around herself.  
  
“No. It’s nicer out than it was last night, and this time, I’m not wandering around in shorts.”  
  
“Okay.” Rachel slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as they wandered away, and Blaine knew that he had been forgiven. He started to lead them in the direction of the main house, but Rachel tugged him past, the expression on her face slightly sour. Blaine supposed that she was none too eager to relive her enchanted evening with Jacob Ben Israel. Instead, they meandered until they found themselves on a path behind the lodge that Blaine hadn’t seen before. It was clearly marked with a sign reading  _Staff Only Beyond This Point_ , but Rachel was turned away, pointing into the woods and exclaiming about fireflies as they passed it. Blaine guiltily pretended like he hadn’t seen it either, and he definitely wasn’t thinking about a certain member of the entertainment staff when he did so.  
  
No, he certainly wasn’t — at least not until he saw him.  
  
At first, Blaine wasn’t sure if the man walking awkwardly under the weight of three watermelons was one and the same, but as he and Rachel drew closer, it all came together — his hair and the lines and the height of him. Blaine glanced down at Rachel, who was still distracted, and made a split-second decision.  
  
“Excuse me,” he called. Rachel started beside him and looked up curiously. “Can we help you?”  
  
The other man stopped and turned towards them sharply. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice surprised, with a palpable edge to it.  
  
Blaine cringed inwardly at the rebuff, but he led Rachel over anyway, keeping his back straight and his head up. “We’re just out for a walk. Won’t you let us help you with those?” He struggled to keep his mouth from dropping open when he got a closer look at the man’s face, softly illuminated by a nearby light post, which highlighted the high planes of his cheeks, the pert tilt of his nose, the strong angle of his jaw. He still looked so  _different_ from anyone that Blaine had ever seen before. So much better.  
  
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” the man said warily, shifting the watermelons up a little higher in his arms. Then he added in undertone, “Your parents would kill you. Max would kill me.”  
  
Blaine was surprised to feel Rachel draw herself up beside him at that. “My parents don’t have anything to say about it. We are  _adults_ ,” she said firmly. “We’re both out of school, and Blaine turned nineteen this spring.” Blaine suppressed a sigh. Trust Rachel to list their high school graduation as proof of adulthood when they’d received their diplomas less than two months earlier.  
  
But the other man ignored it, choosing instead to give Blaine an appraising look. “Did he?” Something about the question made it necessary for Blaine to fight the urge to squirm.  
  
“He did,” Rachel said, oblivious. “And we’d be more than happy to help you. I’m much stronger than I look.”  
  
At Rachel’s indignant tone, the man turned to look down at her curiously, as though he were really seeing her for the first time. She propped her free hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. His lips quirked. “All right,” he said after a moment, “but if you get caught, I’m telling them that one of the waiters let you back here.” He angled his arms toward Blaine, who startled forward when he caught on, disengaging from Rachel to heft up the top watermelon and drop it into her arms.  
  
Blaine turned back again, stepping in close to retrieve another watermelon, his hands and arms brushing all along the other man’s as he reached underneath. Bare skin grazed his fingers, and a heat that he had to have been imagining soaked right through the sleeves of his shirt. Blaine could feel himself flushing as he looked up, right into the other man’s eyes, which at this proximity were suddenly, startlingly blue. He drew back quickly.  
  
“Right this way,” the man said, his face betraying nothing as he turned to lead them a little farther along the path, over a small footbridge, and toward a wooden staircase that led back up a steep section of hill. Blaine glanced up to see a large cabin at its top, and he noted that the building looked a bit more ramshackle than the others he’d seen on the property. As they climbed towards it, the dull throb of music played at top volume began pulsing from within. Blaine placed it as  _Do You Love Me?_ by the Contours after a few seconds.  
  
Just outside a set of large double doors, the man spun to face them. “Last chance to turn back.”  
  
“We’ve come this far,” Rachel said. “I’m sure we can make it a few more steps.”  
  
“Okay, then.” The man raised his eyebrows at them and popped the door open dramatically with his backside.  
  
Blaine gaped.  
  
The music flooded out at them, so loud that it was almost a physical presence, but that wasn’t anywhere near the most startling thing. Blaine found himself looking into a large room filled with a sea of undulating bodies. The men and women were —  _dancing_ , he supposed, but it was like nothing he’d ever seen before. They clung to their partners, touching and writhing. He saw legs thrown over hips, hands roaming, men in their undershirts, or — was that one not wearing a shirt at all?  
  
Blaine felt Rachel shrinking into his side. “Where did they learn to do that?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the music, as though Blaine would be able to give her an answer.  
  
Somehow, the man, who was now standing on the other side of Blaine, heard her. “Kids are doing it in their basements back home,” he said with a shrug. He turned a bemused eye on Rachel. “You wanna try?”  
  
She shook her head and pressed herself further against Blaine.  
  
The man chuckled. “Come on.” He made his way into the room. Blaine and Rachel followed behind, picking their way carefully through the crowd, averting their eyes and trying not to bump into anyone. They deposited the watermelons on a long table and then stood back out of the way, watching the crowd. Even though he had recovered from his initial shock, Blaine wondered if his cheeks were going to be permanently stained red after the experience, and a glance at Rachel — who had wedged herself between himself and the other man as through for protection — revealed that she might suffer the same affliction.  
  
A sudden cheer from the group nearest the door where they’d entered drew Blaine’s attention, and he looked over to see Finn entering with Quinn in tow, their hands clasped between them. They both looked more relaxed than they had earlier in the evening — he’d shed his tuxedo jacket and tie, and her hair and expression were looser. They threw themselves into the dancing before they’d made it five steps past the door.  
  
Rachel stood up a little straighter. “Who’s that?” she asked, clearly aiming for nonchalance, but landing somewhere near wistful.  
  
“That’s Finn Hudson, my stepbrother, and Quinn Fabray,” the man answered. “We all teach dance.”  
  
The music flipped over to a new song. Blaine didn’t recognize it, but it drew a roar of approval from the crowd. When the noise leveled off again, Blaine plucked up his courage. “And you are?” he asked.  
  
“Kurt Hummel.”  
  
“Nice to meet you. I’m Blaine Anderson, and this is Rachel…” He trailed off as Rachel dug her hand into his arm. Blaine glanced up to see Finn striding toward them with Quinn trailing behind, and neither of them looked pleased.  
  
“Kurt, what are they doing here?” Finn asked rudely as soon as he was close enough to be heard, glaring at Blaine and Rachel in turn.  
  
“I found them wandering around outside and put them to work,” Kurt replied airily, not seeming at all put out by his stepbrother’s attitude.  
  
“You  _know_ we’re not supposed to have guests back here. If Max finds out —”  
  
“What, you expect him to show up here?” Kurt cut in, sounding skeptical.  
  
“He doesn’t have to show up. Someone could tell him,” Finn said, looking right at Blaine.  
  
Blaine widened his eyes and held up a hand. “We’re not here to get anyone in trouble. We just —”  
  
“I carried a watermelon,” Rachel blurted.  
  
Blaine’s words died on his lips as they all swiveled slowly to look at Rachel. Quinn was the first to recover, rolling her eyes and tugging on Finn’s arm to draw him back into the crowd.  
  
Rachel slumped. “I  _carried_ a  _watermelon_?” she muttered. Blaine saw Kurt move quickly to cover his mouth with his hand under the guise of scratching the side of his jaw. Blaine tried to be upset at him for Rachel’s sake, but he was more preoccupied by the fact that it was the first time he’d seen anything like a smile on Kurt’s face. Besides, in all honesty, Blaine couldn’t quite blame him for wanting to laugh.  
  
Much to Blaine’s surprise, Rachel didn’t have cause to sulk for long. Finn and Quinn hadn’t moved very far when they started dancing again, and after only a few moments, a man with bright blond hair approached and tapped her on the shoulder. Quinn’s face lit up with a smile, and Finn stepped aside for the newcomer without complaint. Left without a partner, he began to drift back toward Kurt, when his eyes lit on Rachel again and his expression grew thoughtful.  
  
“What do you say, wanna give it a try?” he asked, holding out a hand.  
  
“What?” Rachel laughed brightly.  
  
“Do you want to dance?”  
  
Blaine’s eyes widened, and he looked down to see Rachel blushing and letting Finn lead her into the crowd. She was going to dance — like  _that_? In front of everyone? He stuttered a half step forward, on the verge of calling her back, lips already forming to her name, when he stopped. Rachel would never let him hear the end of it if he embarrassed her now. Blaine sighed and consoled himself with the thought that he could always make an excuse to leave if things appeared to be getting out of hand. He shuffled back again, using the movement to also erase a little of the gap that Rachel had left between himself and Kurt.  
  
When he sneaked a glance out of the corner of his eye, he found Kurt watching him. “Are you comfortable with her doing that?” he asked.  
  
Blaine rolled his eyes. “She’ll make my life miserable if I’m not.”  
  
“Oh,” Kurt said. He paused, and then asked suddenly, now staring straight ahead, “So, when’s the happy occasion?”  
  
Blaine blinked at him for a moment, then turned back to the room as well. “The… happy occasion?”  
  
“Your wedding,” Kurt said, like it was something obvious. “You’re not wearing a ring, so I assume it hasn’t happened yet.”  
  
Startled, Blaine glanced down at his own hands, as though he needed confirmation. “I’m not engaged.”  
  
“So, your parents let you and Rachel travel together even though you’re only steadies?  _Her_ parents…? That’s very… progressive.”  
  
“What?” Blaine gasped. “No! No, Rachel’s my  _cousin_. Dr. and Mrs. Berry are my uncle and aunt.”  
  
Kurt didn’t have time to say more than “oh” before they were interrupted by small, thin girl wearing tight cropped pants and a mischievous smile. “Hey, handsome,” she called playfully over the noise of the room, her eyes trained on Blaine. “I haven’t seen you here before. Want to dance?”  
  
Blaine was aware that he was gaping again, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. “I… I’m not… I don’t…” he sputtered.  
  
Thankfully, Kurt stepped in. “Judy, you’ll have to excuse my friend. He obviously doesn’t know a good dance partner when he sees one. I’d be happy to do the honor, if you’ll let me.” He stepped forward a bit, holding out a hand, and Blaine could swear that he saw amusement flickering around the edges of his expression.  
  
“I would  _love_ to dance with you,” the girl — Judy — said, taking Kurt’s hand before sparing one last confused, dubious glance for Blaine. Kurt didn’t look back. Instead, he led Judy confidently to an open patch of floor, pulling her in tight against his hip and wrapping an arm around her waist.  
  
Blaine looked away. He scanned the crowd restlessly until he found Rachel. Almost instantly, he wished that he hadn’t — his cousin was bopping rather awkwardly along to the music while Finn tried to teach her how to roll her hips. Blaine winced and, as though it was drawn by a magnet, his gaze went back to Kurt and Judy. They were moving sensuously together now, just like the other couples, rocking from side to side like they were caught in a current, Kurt guiding her movements with strong arms. Blaine shifted on his feet and, since no one was watching, sneaked a hand up to surreptitiously pop the button holding the collar of his shirt tight around his neck. The room was sweltering with body heat.  
  
He’d dropped his eyes without noticing it, and they were resting uneasily now on the way Kurt’s hand curled into the girl’s back, holding her lightly but with enough force for his fingers to make indentations in the material of her shirt. Blaine took a deep breath and snapped his eyes back up, surprised to find them locking immediately onto Kurt’s.  
  
He was watching Blaine intently, curiously. He didn’t look away when Blaine glanced up, and he didn’t stop dancing either. He just stared. Blaine stared back until he realized just how hot his face had gotten and turned away abruptly.  
  
 _Well, Blaine, that was certainly normal and not in any way suspicious or unusual,_  he chastised himself harshly. For just a moment, he looked blankly ahead, reeling, then he pushed suddenly into the crowd, moving recklessly and ignoring the jostling it earned him in the form of surprised elbows and shoulders. He just kept pressing forward blindly until he was at Rachel’s side. She was giggling up at Finn, clutching his arm with both hands.  
  
“We should go,” Blaine said without preamble. “Your parents will get worried soon.”  
  
Rachel blinked up at him, looking dazed. “But… this is so much fun! Aren’t you having fun?”  
  
“Of course I am,” Blaine said flatly. He very deliberately did not look around. “But do you really want to have to explain to Hiram and Shelby why we were out so late and where we were? The games are probably going to be over soon and they’ll be expecting us.”  
  
That seemed to snap her out of it, at least a little. “Oh. No, you’re right. We don’t want to arouse suspicion. Finn,” Rachel said, smiling at him brightly, “it was lovely to meet you. I do hope that I’ll see you again.” If Blaine hadn’t been itching to drag her out of the room as quickly as possible, he would have been either impressed or amused by how quickly Rachel slipped back into her prim manners with Finn moments after gyrating against him, not to mention her gall at flirting so blatantly with someone who appeared to have a steady girlfriend.  
  
“Oh, uh, sure,” Finn said. He sounded rather noncommittal to Blaine’s ears, but he was looking at Rachel with sort of a dopey smile, so it was difficult to tell if he was being sincere or not.  
  
“Great,” Blaine said. “Nice to meet you, Finn. Rachel?”  
  
“Okay,” she said brightly, latching onto Blaine’s arm and practically skipping out of the room beside him.  
  
Rachel chattered during the entire walk back to the cabin, which fortunately relieved Blaine of any responsibility in terms of conversation. While he hummed politely at appropriate intervals, his brain raced, and he fervently hoped that he wasn’t destined to end each night of their vacation flustered or confused or upset. If he was, it was going to be a long twenty-seven days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Notes:** (story originally posted spring 2012; links may not be active)
> 
>   * Yeshiva University, according to its website, "has been dedicated to melding the ancient tradition of Jewish law and life with the heritage of Western civilization" since its inception over a century ago: http://www.yu.edu. Puck was only admitted due to a close family connection, and he figured it was as good an option as any.
>   * "A sheynem dank" means "thank you very much" in Yiddish.
>   * Kellerman's indoor pool is a creation of mine that is modeled after the first image on this webpage: http://www.terrastories.com/bearings/abandoned-catskills-hotels (although less abandoned, of course!).
>   * The song that Blaine hears but doesn't recognize right before he asks Kurt's name is "Love Man" by Otis Redding (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3ZdheRKzMk). It's the same song that plays at that point during the movie, but its use was actually an anachronism. Redding didn't record the song until 1967 (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092890/trivia?tab=gf). So, in trying to be true to both the movie and the time period, I kept it in, but of course Blaine's never heard it before!
> 



	3. Chapter 3

After lunch the next day, Rachel and Blaine were on their way to the lake, magazines and a blanket to spread on the grass in hand, when she called his attention to a tent set up along the edge of the small strip of beach. “Is that the wig show?” she asked, shading her eyes.  
  
Blaine furrowed his brow. “The wig show? What’s a wig show?”  
  
“Don’t you ever listen to the announcements?” she asked, veering toward the tent.  
  
Truth be told, Blaine had been annoyed with the man who wandered the grounds shouting the day’s events through a bullhorn since the day they’d arrived. “I must have missed that one.”  
  
Rachel continued beelining toward the tent, and Blaine looked dubiously at the rows of women lined up along both sides of the table underneath, each fussing with her hair in a mirror. “Really, Rachel, what’s a wig show?”  
  
“They set out all different kinds of wigs,” Rachel explained, her voice excited, “and you can try them on.”  
  
They were getting close to the table now, and Blaine started dragging his heels. “Rachel, I love you, but I draw the line at trying on wigs.” A few of the women looked up and tittered.  
  
“Oh, Blaine, you don’t have to do anything. It’s finishing up soon. Just sit here while I try one on.”  
  
Rachel pushed him down into a chair and plopped into the one beside it, reaching at once for a short blonde wig. One of the women who’d watched their approach caught Blaine’s eye and gave him a sympathetic smile. Blaine returned it out of politeness but turned quickly away, and it was then that he noticed that Quinn was presiding over the events at the head of the table. He glanced suspiciously back at Rachel, but she was absorbed with peering into a mirror and fluffing the wig. “How do I look?” she asked.  
  
“Just like Sandra Dee,” Blaine mumbled, looking away at the lake.  
  
Rachel didn’t turn from the mirror. “You’re just saying that.”  
  
Luckily, Blaine was saved from having to lie by Quinn calling out, “Ladies, I’m afraid we have to start packing up. Please remove your wigs and return them to the stands at the center of the table.”  
  
While the other women began following Quinn’s instructions, Rachel dawdled. She left the wig on and continued staring into the mirror, tilting her head first one way and then the other. “Rach, come on,” Blaine prodded her. “It’s time to go.”  
  
“I know,” Rachel said innocently. She tipped her chin up, then down.  
  
“I don’t think they’re going to let you take the wig with you,” Blaine said.  
  
“Probably not,” Rachel agreed. By then, most of the women had left the table. Blaine fidgeted nervously as Quinn started packing the mirrors and wigs into boxes, moving slowly but surely down the table in their direction. Rachel took one more critical look in the mirror and said, “I don’t think this look is for me anyway.” She pulled the wig off, set it on the lone remaining empty stand, and quickly smoothed her own hair.  
  
“Are you almost done?” a voice said, polite but cool. Blaine looked up to see Quinn waiting beside Rachel’s chair.  
  
“Oh, yes,” Rachel said. “All finished. Thank you.” She clambered to her feet and fixed Quinn with a sunny smile. “Were you really a Rockette?”  
  
“Yes,” Quinn said shortly, reaching for the mirror that Rachel had been using and transferring it to a box.  
  
Rachel clasped her hands together. “Oh, on stage in New York! I envy you.”  
  
Quinn gave a quiet snort, shifting the contents of the box around. “Yeah, well, my parents kicked me out when I was sixteen. Dancing was all I ever wanted to do, and I’m just lucky I got a job as good as that one, or who knows where I might have wound up.” She slammed the lid shut and looked up suddenly. “Don’t pretend to know anything about my life,” she snapped, “because if you did, you wouldn’t want it.” With that, she picked up the box and stalked away.  
  
Rachel gaped after her, then snapped her mouth shut and crossed her arms. “Well! That was rude.”  
  
Forcing his expression into something a little less shocked, Blaine came to stand beside her. “Forget about it,” he said. It was advice that Blaine wished that he could take to heart. All morning, he’d been haunted by the way the previous night had ended, the way he’d felt laid bare by Kurt’s eyes, the way he’d let them chase him from the room. What must Kurt be thinking? Could he suspect? He had to suspect.  
  
Blaine shuddered away from his thoughts, starting to walk toward the water as though he could physically leave them behind at the table. “Come on. Let’s just get down to the lake.”  
  
With a haughty little sniff, Rachel turned to follow.

\- / / -

Blaine spent most of the day dreading the evening. He already knew that his family would be attending the second social dance of the weekend, this time at the gazebo. His chances of escape were slim. Even Rachel was excited about it, despite the potential of having to dance with Jacob, because she knew that Finn would be there. And that was the crux of the situation — Blaine was well aware that the dance instructors would be in attendance, trying to convince the guests to buy lessons. When he thought through the situation, which he did again and again, he could only come to the conclusion that he should be downright worried to see Kurt again. Still, it was all he could do to quash the part of him deep down that felt completely the opposite.

A quick look around the gazebo upon his family’s arrival revealed that he didn’t have cause to be anxious yet. Kurt, Finn, and Quinn were nowhere to be seen. For the first twenty minutes, Blaine kept up regular, nervous sweeps of the dance floor and came up empty every time. It seemed that Rachel was doing the same, although she spent an equal amount of time staying aware of Jacob, who was strutting around the gazebo with supreme pride at having planned the evening, so that she could give him wide berth. It wasn’t until Blaine looked over the shoulder of the woman he was dutifully dancing with — one half of the couple with whom Hiram and Shelby now had a standing tennis date — and saw Finn dance by with one of the guests that he realized that they’d even turned up. It had certainly happened with less fanfare than the night before.  
  
Of course, neither Kurt nor Finn gave any indication that they had ever spoken to Blaine or Rachel before in their lives. They couldn’t, Blaine knew, but it didn’t stop Rachel from making a rapid transition from starry-eyed to stony-faced when Finn barely looked in her direction. Kurt, for his part, had briefly and unexpectedly met Blaine’s eyes a handful of times — over the shoulders of their dance partners, across the floor as they stood on opposite sides of the gazebo.  
  
Which was where Blaine was now, leaning against the railing, watching as Kurt’s eyes lightly flicked away from him again. Just like the past three times, it set Blaine on edge, made him want to fidget or demand an explanation, even though Kurt’s face remained all but blank. Hiram and Shelby were standing nearby with Mr. Kellerman, chatting and laughing. Rachel, who was all but plastered to Blaine’s side while she kept a wary eye on Jacob, had switched over to pretending like she wasn’t watching Finn dance with a middle-aged woman in a tight, revealing dress just a few feet away.  
  
“Max!” the woman called suddenly. “Look! Aren’t my dance lessons paying off?”  
  
“You look great, Terri. Just terrific!” Mr. Kellerman replied. “Is Will here for the weekend?”  
  
“For the weekend!” she said. “But he got roped into one of the card games, so no doubt he’s losing all our hard-earned money as we speak.”  
  
“I’ll have to stop by and say hello later. Make sure they’re not taking him for a ride.” The woman nodded and turned her face back to Finn. Rachel stiffened.  
  
“That’s Terri Schuester,” Blaine heard Mr. Kellerman say quietly to Hiram and Shelby. “She’s one of the bungalow bunnies. That’s what we call the women who stay here all week. Their husbands only come up on the weekends. And I don’t want to speak ill of my guests, but if you do join one of the card games, Will Schuester’s table isn’t a bad one to be at.”  
  
Blaine turned back to the woman speculatively. She had only had time to wrap her hands around Finn’s neck — which surely wasn’t proper dance technique, Blaine thought — when they were both interrupted by the sudden appearance of Jacob Ben Israel. “Where’s Quinn?” he demanded, looking up at Finn. “People are asking for her.”  
  
A hard look dropped over Finn’s face immediately. He stepped back from Terri, who watched both men with a miffed expression. “She’s tired and she’s taking a break. She needs a break.”  
  
Jacob frowned severely. “It better not be an all-night break.”  
  
Finn sighed and looked away. “Just give her a few minutes. She’ll be here.”  
  
“She’d better.” Jacob turned away and headed straight for the Berrys. Rachel gasped quietly, but there was no escape. “Rachel, you look lovely tonight.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said, her voice tense.  
  
“May I have the next dance?” he asked.  
  
“Um… I’m very flattered, of course, but I think that I’m… starting to get tired. It must be all the fresh air.” She smiled apologetically.  
  
“Well, I’d be happy to escort you to your cabin, if you need to lie down,” he said eagerly.  
  
“Oh!” Rachel exclaimed. “Oh, no. Thank you. I’m… hungry. So I don’t want to go to bed just yet.”  
  
“A snack!” Jacob beamed. “I can walk with you to the kitchen.”  
  
At Rachel’s pained expression, Blaine sighed. “A snack sounds good, actually,” he interjected. “Do you mind if I tag along?”  
  
The look on Jacob’s face indicated that he minded very much, but he had only gotten as far as, “We can bring you —” when Rachel spoke eagerly over him. “No, please do join us!”  
  
“So, Blaine,” Jacob asked as the three of them made their way toward the main house, his voice all false politeness, “do you often have to serve as Rachel’s chaperone?”  
  
“Um, sometimes, I guess,” he replied. Rachel frowned, but said nothing.  
  
“Because, Rachel, you really don’t need to worry about that here. If your parents think you’re with me, they’ll be the happiest ones at Kellerman’s. I’m known as the catch of the county.”  
  
Blaine saw Rachel’s eyebrows shoot up and her lips twitch. “I’m sure you are,” she said.  
  
“Last month, I took a girl away from Sam — he’s one of the lifeguards, and he actually might not be so bad, but he spends all his time with the _entertainment staff_.” Blaine noticed that he gave the words the exact same inflection as his uncle. “And he said to her ‘What does he have that I don’t have?’ And you know what she said? ‘Two hotels.’”  
  
“How… charming,” Rachel intoned, stepping aside and wrinkling her nose at Blaine as Jacob opened the door. He held it for Rachel, but somehow managed to scoot through right after, leaving Blaine to catch the door before it closed in his face.  
  
In the kitchen, Jacob led them to one of the large refrigerators and started looking through the contents. “Let’s see… there’s some cheese, some gherkins… I could make a sandwich…” Since he wasn’t actually hungry, Blaine tuned Jacob out as he continued to list their options. He looked up at the slice of light the refrigerator carved across ceiling, but his eyes were brought down sharply as he heard what sounded very much like someone trying to silence a sniffle. Frowning, he shifted back nonchalantly to peer around a counter. In the darkness on the other side, he could just make out Quinn huddled on the floor, back pressed against the wall and knees to her chest, face wet and distraught.  
  
Blaine leaned slowly forward again to find Rachel watching him suspiciously while Jacob continued to rifle through the refrigerator. She sneaked a glance around the corner as well, then exchanged a calculating look with Blaine. He nodded. “That sounds good; I’ll have that,” she said, cutting off Jacob’s rambling catalog.  
  
Jacob gave her a confused look. “Salad dressing?”  
  
“What? No, oh no… what did you say before that?”  
  
“Grapes?”  
  
“Yes!” Rachel exclaimed. She reached into the refrigerator herself and broke off two small bunches, thrusting one at Blaine. “Weren’t you hungry, Blaine?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. I mean, yes, I am. Thank you.”  
  
As they made their way back toward the gazebo, Blaine and Rachel made fast work of eating their grapes and tossed away the stems, walking quickly despite Jacob’s protests. When they got close, Blaine leaned down to hiss in Rachel’s ear, “Keep him occupied.”  
  
She made a sour face but nodded. After a fortifying breath, she forced a smile onto her face and turned toward Jacob. “Would you still be up for that dance?”  
  
His face lit up. “Of course!” As he led Rachel to the dance floor, Jacob shot a haughty look back over his shoulder at Blaine.  
  
Blaine ignored it, already moving along the edge of the gazebo to try and spot either Finn or Kurt. He saw Finn first, but he was dancing with another middle-aged female guest. Blaine didn’t want to make a scene by interrupting, so he searched for a moment longer and was relieved to see Kurt watching from the edge of the crowd, sipping a drink. Ignoring the sudden acceleration of his heartbeat, Blaine approached him and leaned against the railing, keeping a cautious distance between them.  
  
Kurt cut him a sidelong glance. “Good evening, Blaine.”  
  
“Hello, Kurt.”  
  
“If you’re looking for a dance lesson, Quinn’s taking a break, but she should be here soon.”  
  
“I’m not so sure about that, actually.”  
  
That caught Kurt’s attention, and he actually turned to look at Blaine directly. “What?”  
  
Blaine faced him, dropping all pretense. “Rachel and I just went to the kitchen to find a snack. Quinn’s in there. She’s crying, and she seems really upset.”  
  
Something in Kurt’s expression crumbled at the words. “Did she say anything?” he asked, and even his voice seemed a little smaller.  
  
“No. She was hiding, and I don’t think she even realized that we saw her. I just… wanted one of you to know.”  
  
Kurt nodded, his face continuing to give way to genuine concern. “Wait here,” he said, stepping onto the dance floor and weaving his way toward Finn. After Kurt took a moment to speak into his stepbrother’s ear, Finn excused himself from his partner, and both men hastened toward the path leading to the main house. Without thinking, Blaine hurried to follow. He rushed noisily down the steps just after Kurt, who gave him a confused, curious look, but kept quiet as they fell into step together, moving quickly to keep up with Finn’s long stride.  
  
“Quinn wouldn’t do anything stupid, would she?” Finn called over his shoulder.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Kurt said, but he didn’t sound like he entirely believed his own words.  
  
“What’s — what’s the matter?” Blaine asked.  
  
Finn started at the sound of his voice and looked back for a moment. “What’s  _he_ doing here?”  
  
“I just want to make sure she’s okay,” Blaine said falteringly.  
  
Finn shook his head and kept walking.  
  
“But — what’s  _wrong_?” Blaine asked again, glancing over at Kurt.  
  
Kurt was quiet for a moment, his lips tightening a little. “It’s not my place to tell,” he said finally.  
  
They were at the doors then, and conversation was forgotten in favor of rushing to the kitchen. Quinn hadn’t moved, and Finn knelt beside her at once. She leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck, sobbing anew. Finn spoke to her in a low soothing voice. “It’s okay. I’m here. Kurt’s here. We’re not going to let anything happen to you. Ssshhh. We’ve got to go; hang on.” He slid one arm under her knees and another around her back, lifting her easily while she buried her face in his shoulder.  
  
Moving in a tight group, they exited the main house through a door at the back of the building and started back toward the staff area of the resort. Blaine felt out of place now, but it didn’t seem right to just turn around and leave, either. He could hear Quinn and Finn’s voices carrying back to him on the quiet night air.  
  
“Why didn’t you come and find me? I’m always here to help you,” Finn was saying.  
  
“Forget it, Finn. I’m not taking what’s left of your salary,” she replied, her voice thick.  
  
“Don’t you worry about me.”  
  
“It wouldn’t be enough anyway,” Quinn said. “It’s hopeless! What am I going to do with a baby?”  
  
Blaine’s eyes rounded, and he looked over at Kurt. “A baby?” he mouthed. Kurt’s mouth twisted and he looked at the ground.  
  
Finn carried Quinn into the same large cabin from the night before, which seemed barren when it was empty of music and dancing, and deposited her on a worn couch, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. Only then did she look up and notice Blaine. “You!” she said in surprise. “You heard?”  
  
“I’m — I’m sorry,” Blaine whispered.  
  
“Fantastic,” Quinn muttered. “Now he’ll tell his cousin, and she’ll tell her management boyfriend, and we’ll all get fired.” Wearily, she accepted a drink from Finn.  
  
“I’m not going to —” Blaine started, but Quinn had started in again as though he hadn’t spoken.  
  
“Geez, at this rate, everyone here is gonna know before long. Why not just skywrite it?  _Quinn got knocked up by Noah the creep!_ ” she finished dramatically, waving her hand.  
  
Blaine found his eyes turning to Finn as he asked, “Noah?”  
  
“So right away, you think it’s mine?” Finn challenged him.  
  
“But I thought…” Blaine started, his voice trailing away. It was obvious what he’d thought.  
  
“They haven’t been a couple since we were in high school,” Kurt volunteered quietly.  
  
Blaine shook his head, trying to absorb the situation. “Is there — is there anything I can do?”  
  
“Do you have $250?” Quinn asked mirthlessly. She took a swig from her glass.  
  
“What?”  
  
Again, it was Kurt who spoke up, his voice still low. “One of the guys knows a doctor,” he said. “A real M.D. He’s going to be in town the week after next. We can get an appointment, but we’re $250 short.”  
  
A weighty silence fell over the room. Blaine blinked at Kurt for a moment before the realization hit him —  _oh, he means_  — and he looked back at Quinn. She was staring sullenly into her glass, while both Finn and Kurt were looking at Blaine as though they were daring him to make a comment or turn them in to the police.  
  
Of course, they had no idea the sorts of things that he’d overheard while living in a doctor’s home for the past four years. There was the night last fall, for example, when Hiram had gotten home late after dealing with an emergency patient, and he and Shelby had huddled in the kitchen and spoken in hushed tones about a  _botched procedure_ done by an  _untrained practitioner_ , unaware that Blaine was sitting in the next room with his math homework spread all over the coffee table, shamelessly eavesdropping. He’d listened wide-eyed as they’d both agreed that things shouldn’t have to be that way.  
  
It  _shouldn’t_ have to be that way, not for Quinn, he thought, and it was accompanied by a rush of fear — is that what Quinn would do if she couldn’t get this appointment? Would she be another emergency? A  _botched procedure_? She was suddenly so real, sitting small on the couch with her shoulders curled delicately in, a girl who had only ever wanted to be a dancer with friends that didn’t want to see her hurt.  _A real M.D._ , Kurt had said. Not an untrained practitioner.  
  
“Have you asked Noah?” Blaine said carefully. “Maybe he could... if you tell him —”  
  
“He knows,” Quinn cut him off, her face grim.  
  
“But —”  
  
“You want to know what you can do for me?” Quinn said, hard and angry. “Go back to your fancy family vacation and leave me alone. This isn’t any of your business.”  
  
Blaine reeled back a little and looked helplessly over at Kurt. His face was stern, but his eyes were sympathetic. “Maybe it would be best if you just go,” he said softly.  
  
“I — okay,” Blaine said, shifting backwards and then nearly tripping over his feet as he turned to hurry out of the room. Outside, he met Rachel as she crested the stairs that led up the hill.  
  
“Jacob and Mr. Kellerman left to go talk to the men playing cards,” she said breathlessly. “We’re in the clear. Is everything okay?”  
  
“It’ll be fine,” he said, continuing past her and starting back down the staircase.  
  
Rachel paused for a moment and then followed. “What’s wrong? Is Quinn okay?”  
  
Blaine’s feet moved along the path in even steps. It felt like he wasn’t controlling them at all. “She’s… sick. She’s sick and she needs surgery and they don’t have the money.”  
  
“How awful!” Rachel exclaimed, hurrying to catch up. “I wonder if Daddy —”  
  
“No!” Blaine cut her off sharply. He stopped and turned to face her. “We can’t meddle like that and drag everyone into everyone else’s business.”  
  
“But —”  
  
Blaine reached out and rested his hands on her shoulders. “I’m going to take care of it, Rachel. Please, trust me.”  
  
Rachel’s eyes were big and confused, but she nodded. “Okay, Blaine.”  
  
They returned to the gazebo in silence.

\- / / -

Blaine managed to slip away from his family the following day and steal into the dining hall while the waiters were preparing it for the lunch service. He found Noah filling water glasses and approached him cautiously, suddenly nervous even though he’d been planning his words since the night before. He paused beside the table and cleared his throat.

“Oh,” Noah said, looking up in surprise. “Hey. You’re Rachel’s brother, right?”  
  
“Cousin, actually. I —”  
  
“What can I do for you, Rachel’s cousin?” He continued to circle the table and pour.  
  
Blaine took a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about Quinn Fabray.”  
  
Noah glanced up sharply, then returned to his work, a little smirk on his face. “Oh, you think she’s a real doll, huh?”  
  
“No, I —”  
  
“Well, let me give you some advice. You do  _not_ want to get messed up with that one. If you want to know who to spend time with around here, I can give you a few names.”  
  
“No!” Blaine exclaimed, then lowered his voice again. “It’s not that. It’s just… you know she needs money, right?”  
  
Noah startled, water splashing out of a glass and onto the tablecloth. He cursed and thumped the pitcher down on the table. “She told  _you_?”  
  
“I found out,” Blaine said evenly.  
  
“So?” Noah raised an eyebrow.  
  
“So I want to know what you plan to do about it,” Blaine said. He tried to sound stern, but Noah’s impregnable expression made him quake a little.  
  
Noah only looked more foreboding when an impressive frown bloomed on his features. “First of all, do  _not_ try to talk to me like you’re my father. I may not know where he is, but I know you’re not him. Second, I didn’t blow a summer hauling bagels just to bail out some chick who probably slept with every guy in the place.”  
  
Blaine’s eyebrows shot up. “But she said —”  
  
“Of course she  _said_. I’d like to see her prove it,” Noah said smugly.  
  
Blaine felt a sudden wash of fury so strong that he was surprised he wasn’t  _actually_ seeing red. Drawing strength from it, he stepped forward a little and fixed Noah with a hard look. “You’re disgusting,” he seethed. “You stay far, far away from my cousin, or I’ll have you fired.” For one wild moment, Blaine considered grabbing the pitcher of water and splashing it in Noah’s self-satisfied face — or somewhere else. Instead, he spun and stormed out of the room before Noah could say another word.

\- / / -

After lunch, Blaine walked with Hiram back to the cabin through a fine drizzle that fell from the thick bank of clouds overhead. Shelby and Rachel had managed to commandeer the dance studio for an hour so that Rachel could practice and do a few vocal runs, and all four planned to convene at the indoor pool afterward, even though it promised to be crowded.

When he and Hiram had settled into chairs on the porch, Blaine spoke up. “Uncle Hiram, I have to ask you a favor.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
Blaine took a deep breath. He’d been mulling it over since his conversation with Noah, and he just didn’t see any other options. “I met someone here, one of the staff members, and I found out they need $250.”  
  
Hiram’s eyebrows arched behind his glasses. “That’s a lot of money, Blaine.”  
  
“I know,” he said quickly. “I just… I really want to help. And I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can; I promise.”  
  
Hiram watched him, his gaze searching. “It’s not for anything illegal, is it?”  
  
Blaine forced himself to keep breathing evenly. “No,” he said, surprising even himself at how easily the lie came out.  
  
“Of course not,” Hiram said at once. “That was a silly thing to ask. I trust your judgment. I’ll have it for you before dinner.”

Blaine’s stomach squirmed uncomfortably, but he kept his gaze steady. “And you won’t… I mean... it’s kind of a secret, and I don’t want it to get out. So you won’t mention it to Shelby? Or anyone?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”  
  
Blaine nodded. “Thank you,” he said, unable to keep the relief from his voice entirely as Hiram clapped his shoulder.  
  
Later that evening, Blaine’s family retired early to their cabin because Rachel had implored them all to stay in and work on the puzzle. Blaine, however, had pulled her aside to let her know that he’d gotten the money for Quinn, and she’d given him a hug and her special dispensation to run the errand.  
  
Blaine had initially considered making the excuse that he wanted to go for a run now that the rain had stopped, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of showing up in the staff quarters in his running shorts. Instead, he actually dressed with some care, selecting the best-looking pair of jeans he owned and a dark t-shirt, buttoning a long-sleeved shirt up over the top. He jammed the money down into his pocket and headed out to the main room. “I think I left my wristwatch down at the pool this afternoon,” he announced. “I’m going to go see if anyone found it.”  
  
“Oh dear!” Rachel exclaimed. “And just when we were sitting down to work on the puzzle!”  
  
Blaine thought that she was, perhaps, laying it on a little thick and shook his head at her discreetly. “I don’t think I’ll be gone long.”  
  
Hiram glanced up and gave him a knowing look. “I hope it turns up,” he said with a nod.  
  
“Thank you. I’ll be back soon.”  
  
Blaine paused on the porch. The next step had always been part of a plan, but it was making him feel ridiculous when it actually came down following through. With a sigh, he forced himself to remember how out of place he’d felt the night of the first staff party, standing there in his collared shirt and suit pants. Before he could change his mind, he removed the long-sleeved shirt, stuffed it under a blanket on one of the chairs, and all but ran down the cabin steps. It was silly — he wore t-shirts to run in all the time at home. He had been far more on display at every one of his cross country meets than he was now, and although the uniform had made him uncomfortable at first, he’d long since stopped caring whether anyone was looking at him. There was no reason to feel like he was walking across the grounds in his underwear. But he did.  
  
When Blaine arrived at the staff cabin, another party appeared to be in full swing. The mood was a little more subdued than he’d seen previously —"Stay" by Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs was playing, and couples were rocking together in clinging pairs. Blaine saw Kurt dancing with one of the women not far from where he’d come in, but he looked quickly away and spotted Finn and Quinn locked together on the other side of the room. He wended his way through the crowd and tapped Finn on the shoulder, his excitement overriding his fears about being rude. When the pair separated to look at him in surprise, Blaine held up the cash and grinned.  
  
Quinn looked at him in disbelief, a slow smile spreading over her face as she tentatively took the bills. “You mean Noah…?” she asked.  
  
“Oh… no,” Blaine said. “You were right about him.”  
  
“Then where…?”  
  
Blaine shrugged. “You said you needed it.”  
  
Laughing a little, Quinn looked up at Finn. “What is this kid, some kind of saint?”  
  
It wasn’t until then that Blaine saw Finn’s expression, which was hard and unamused. “Yeah, Prep School here is a real saint for getting an advance on next week’s allowance.”  
  
Blaine sputtered for a moment, which gave Kurt — whose approach had gone unnoticed — the chance to admonish, “Finn!”  
  
“I only went to prep school for half a year,” Blaine finally retorted, recovering his voice. “And we’re not rich!”  
  
Kurt gave him a skeptical look that bordered on amused. “Your uncle is  _Doctor_ Berry, right?” Blaine nodded. “So then he treats his patients pro bono?”  
  
“Pro what?” Finn asked.  
  
“That’s enough, boys,” Quinn interjected. She shoved the stack of bills back into Blaine’s hand. “Thank you, but I can’t take this.” Then she turned to drag a protesting Finn back to dancing. Blaine heard him hiss, “you should take the money” as they began swaying again.  
  
Kurt sighed, watching them, his face troubled. “I can only get her an appointment for Thursday,” he explained, “but that’s when we’re scheduled to do the mambo act at the Sheldrake. I choreograph; they dance.”  
  
“What’s the Sheldrake?” Blaine asked.  
  
“It’s another hotel. If we cancel now, we lose this year’s salary and next year’s gig.”  
  
“Can’t somebody else just fill in?”  
  
Finn, who was evidently still listening to their conversation, broke away from Quinn. “Who else is going to fill in? Everyone else is busy all day and wouldn’t have time to learn the routine. This isn’t a vacation for us. Everybody works here.”  
  
Blaine looked at Finn for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. “What if I could find someone?”  
  
“Who?” Quinn asked suspiciously.  
  
“Rachel,” Blaine said. “She’s been taking dance lessons for practically her entire life.”  
  
“She has?” Kurt asked, sounding doubtful.  
  
“Ballet,” Blaine clarified.  
  
“Well, I still think it’s the dumbest idea I ever heard of,” Finn said petulantly, looking away.  
  
“Just let her try,” Blaine cajoled. “I’m sure she would want to.”  
  
To his surprise, Quinn looked thoughtful. “Finn, you’re a strong partner and a good lead. And we’d have over a week to teach her.”  
  
“It wouldn’t be as difficult as starting from scratch,” Kurt mused. “At the very least, she’s used to moving and learning choreography.”  
  
All three of them looked at Finn expectantly. He continued to scowl, and Blaine wondered if he would actually say no just for the sake of it, or just because Blaine had made the suggestion. Finally, he grumbled, “We can give it a try. At least until we come up with a better solution.”  
  
Blaine smiled and extended the money to Quinn. “I’ll ask her as soon as I can get her alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Notes:** (originally posted spring 2012; links may no longer be active)
> 
>   * Sandra Dee was a model and actress, best known for playing ingenues. This is a still from her 1962 film _If A Man Answers_ : http://www.art.com/products/p15362483-sa-i3710366/if-a-man-answers-sandra-dee-1962.htm.
>   * For reference, when Blaine is mulling over the cross country uniform that he used to wear, here are a couple of pictures from a 1963 boys' high school cross country team: http://www.glcrosscountry.com/CC1963.html (note the second one, specifically).
> 



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: I know that, realistically, Finn and Rachel wouldn't be able to partner well because of their height difference. I would encourage you to picture them as though Rachel is standing on a box (as she often is in scenes with Finn) and wearing dancing shoes with heels. Maybe Finn is an inch shorter too. My research indicates that a 7-8 inch height difference would be doable.

Rachel’s first dance rehearsal took place as soon as possible, which happened to be during the afternoon two days later. Strangely, Finn had insisted that it be in private, only he and Rachel, with none of the others present. “To take the pressure off,” Quinn had explained with a shrug when she’d cornered Blaine briefly after the previous night’s dinner service to make the arrangements. Finn had shifted his schedule of lessons to free an hour of time in the middle of the day, and when Rachel left, cheerfully lying that she was thinking about joining a game of horseshoes, she was practically skipping.  
  
Blaine stayed on the porch for a short while after she left, staring blankly at a book he’d borrowed from the library in the main lodge — a paperback mystery novel that was at least a decade old. He hadn’t absorbed a word of it. When his watch revealed that ten long minutes had passed, he stuck his head back into the cabin, where Hiram and Shelby were playing Canasta with one of the other couples. “I think I’m going to go see if there’s room for one more at horseshoes,” he announced, and they all waved him off jovially.  
  
Like Rachel would have done, Blaine headed first in the direction of the horseshoe courts, which sat at one side of the main house. He thought that Rachel’s excuse was rather flimsy — he couldn’t imagine her pitching a horseshoe — but luckily, no one had questioned it. As he skirted by, Blaine was relieved to see that he didn’t recognize anyone who was actually playing.  _Good_ , he thought. It meant less chance that word would somehow get back to Hiram and Shelby that they hadn’t been there at all.  
  
Blaine rounded the main house and headed toward the staff cabin. He avoided the doors, choosing instead to circle the building in the opposite direction, with the thought that he’d be able to see what was going on inside from the large windows on its side, if they were open. He didn’t mean to spy or interrupt, but he couldn’t help but be interested in how the lesson was going. Turning the final corner, he was surprised to see that he wasn’t the only one.  
  
Kurt was standing along the tree line, leaning casually against a trunk, poised and looking nothing so much like a picture in a magazine.  _Or a painting_ , Blaine thought, not that he knew very much about art. He was so caught up in staring that he completely abandoned his stealth and stepped on a twig, which snapped harshly under his weight. Kurt’s head jerked to the side, but he relaxed again immediately when he recognized Blaine. Encouraged, Blaine started to make his way over. He would have even sworn that he even saw the corner of Kurt’s mouth turn up just a little.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Kurt asked when Blaine drew near, but his voice held nothing of the hostile tone he’d used that first night. In fact, Blaine dared to hope that he actually detected something friendly in Kurt’s inflection.  
  
“Just curious,” Blaine said. “Wanted to see how everything was going.” He nodded toward the building. Sunlight was pouring in through the open doors and windows of the cabin, making Finn and Rachel visitlbe from the shade of the woods. Blaine could see that Finn was demonstrating the basic footwork of the dance while Rachel looked on.  
  
Kurt nodded, regarding him for a moment, and then he said, “You look out for her.”  
  
“Of course I do,” Blaine said. Feeling bold, he shuffled forward and leaned on the other side of the same tree trunk. The previous day had brought more rain showers, and although they had cleared overnight, the lush, damp smell of the forest still hung heavily in the air. Blaine breathed it in deeply as they lapsed into a brief silence, watching as Rachel tried to imitate the step for the first time. Based on Finn’s reaction, Blaine guessed that she hadn’t done it correctly. He glanced over to see a faint frown on Kurt’s face. “What are  _you_  doing here?” he asked.  
  
“I’m afraid it’s not as nice as all that,” Kurt replied, waving a hand in Blaine’s general direction. “They give me a cut of the pay for choreographing them, so I want to make sure this isn’t going to be a complete disaster.”  
  
“Oh. Well, that’s understandable.”  
  
“And maybe a little selfish?” Kurt said. He gave Blaine a small smile, and Blaine’s heart squeezed hard in his chest. To his horror, he could already feel the blood rushing to his face, just from that. Luckily, Kurt was no longer looking, having turned back to the window. “I can already see that I’m going to have to rework a lot of the routine, actually. She’s so short.”  
  
Before he even realized that he’d done it, Blaine drew himself up to his full height. “She’s not  _that_ short.”  
  
Kurt looked like he was trying  _not_ to smile then. “She’s pretty short,” he asserted, and then paused. Blaine waited. He didn’t know exactly what he was waiting  _for_ , but he was practically holding his breath, watching Kurt expectantly until his gaze slid back over toward Blaine. “Does it run in the family?” he asked.  
  
“Oh, stop. I’m almost as tall as you.”  
  
“But you’re not.” The teasing expression in Kurt’s eyes made Blaine's stomach flutter, and he had to look away.  
  
“Well,” he said, facing the window again, hoping that the continued flush of color high on his cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt, “I’d rather be my height than a giant like your stepbrother.”  
  
“There’s something we can both agree on.”  
  
Then they were quiet again, watching Finn and Rachel try the step a few more times. Blaine found himself fighting the urge to fidget, feeling awkward at his inability to break the silence. He cast around for something to say, but in the end, Kurt beat him to it. “So,” he said, “why are you here with your aunt and uncle?”  
  
Blaine’s heart deadened a little in his chest. He spoke evenly, knowing from years of experience that there was no good way to sidestep or sugarcoat the issue. “I live with them, actually. My parents were in a car accident about four years ago. They… didn’t make it.”  
  
Kurt’s reaction was mild — just a slight widening of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It must have been hard to lose them both at once.” Blaine nodded. He was both surprised and relieved to hear that Kurt’s voice hadn’t taken on the note of panic that most people’s did when they found out that his parents were dead. He was even more taken aback at Kurt’s next question: “What were they like?”  
  
For a moment, it brought Blaine up short. He couldn’t recall anyone having asked before, and he suddenly found himself choking on words, aching to talk. He was flooded with memories — his mother’s warm eyes, his father’s stalwart energy. “They were… they were great,” he managed to get out, the words feeling entirely inadequate.  
  
“Yeah?” Kurt asked. His voice was light, prompting for more, but clearly giving Blaine the option to stop there if he wanted.  
  
“Yeah,” Blaine said, and some of the tightness that had invaded his chest and shoulders began to ease. “They really wanted what was best for me. That sounds like a dumb thing to say — I mean, they were my parents — but they really did. They tried to make things special. I think I’ll always remember my eighth birthday. I loved watching  _Howdy Doody_ , so my mom invited all the kids over, and she tried to draw a horse on the cake with frosting. My dad dressed up like Buffalo Bob — you know, the shirt with the fringe? I still don’t know how my mom ever talked him into —” He cut himself off suddenly. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t apologize,” Kurt said. “It’s a really nice story.”  
  
Blaine felt the corner of his mouth lift. “It was a really nice day.” They both focused their attention back on the window, where it was becoming increasingly obvious that Rachel was again failing to get something right. “He’s going to get frustrated with her soon,” Kurt said, and Blaine welcomed the change of subject. “Finn’s not always the most patient instructor. He usually manages to keep it in check when he’s getting paid for his work.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry,” Blaine said. “She won’t put up with it.”  
  
As if on cue, Rachel crossed her arms and spoke sharply at Finn, who reeled back a bit. They exchanged what looked to be a few barbs before Finn restarted the turntable and turned back to try the dance again.  
  
When Kurt spoke into the silence, there was a forced casualness about his voice. “My mom died when I was eight. Cancer.”  
  
“I’m so sorry!” Blaine exclaimed. He wanted to say  _that’s so young_ , but the words stuck in his throat. They didn’t seem appropriate somehow, especially when he’d just been waxing poetic about his love of  _Howdy Doody_  at the same age. Of course it was young.  
  
“Thank you,” Kurt said. “It always seems like people don’t know what to say when they find out, don’t you think? I always just want to tell people how wonderful she was, but no one ever asked.”  
  
Blaine ducked his head, then looked back over. “Kurt, what was your mother like?”  
  
Kurt kept looking straight ahead at the window, but he smiled. “She really was wonderful. She was kind and caring and patient. She loved to draw, so she would make up stories for me and draw the pictures, and she had a beautiful singing voice.”  
  
“That does sound… wonderful,” Blaine said lamely, repeating Kurt’s word, but Kurt didn’t seem to mind. He just nodded.  
  
“She’s the reason I took up singing — or kept singing as long as I did, if you want to look at it that way,” Kurt commented.  
  
That perked Blaine up. “Oh, you sing?”  
  
“Three years of high school glee club,” Kurt confirmed.  
  
“Really?” Blaine stood up a little straighter and leaned in Kurt’s direction. “Rachel and I were in glee club too.”  
  
Kurt watched him with amusement. “You’re from Ohio, right? Lima?”  
  
Blaine startled. “Yes. How did you know that?”  
  
Was he just imagining it, or did Kurt look embarrassed at the question? For the first time, he shifted uncomfortably, frowning when his shirt caught for a second on the tree bark. “Oh. Well, Rachel managed to tell Finn an awful lot about herself the other night, especially considering that they only danced for a song and a half.”  
  
“That’s… not very surprising, actually,” Blaine said with a chuckle. “So, why do you ask?”  
  
“I’m trying to figure out if we ever crossed paths on the competition circuit. When did you graduate?”  
  
“This year. But I highly doubt that we ever competed. We were terrible. We never made it past sectionals. In fact, they only invited us  _to_ sectionals once.”  
  
Kurt’s face was sympathetic. “That’s too bad. But if that’s the case, then it doesn’t matter anyway. I graduated in ‘59.”  
  
“So, that makes you…” Blaine trailed off.  
  
“Twenty-two,” Kurt said. “Turning twenty-three in a few months, actually.”  
  
The words hit Blaine like a bucket of cold water. “Oh,” he replied.  
  
Kurt sighed. “I know, I know. I look younger than that. It’s the story of my life.”  
  
But Blaine was still dumbstruck, and could only repeat, “oh.” He suddenly felt small and childish — not even twenty years old and still living with his family, someone who spent most of his time with his cousin and was nervous about moving to the big city. Meanwhile, Kurt had been making his way in the world for years and coping with the loss of his mother since he was eight years old. What did Blaine have to offer?  
  
“Blaine?” Kurt was peering at him curiously.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I’m still the same person you were talking to five minutes ago.”  
  
“Of course!” Blaine said quickly. Silence crept up on them again, and Blaine knew it was up to him to come up with the next topic of conversation. “So… when did you learn to dance?”  
  
“Well, to be honest, that all started with Quinn. You know she was a Rockette?” Kurt asked. He continued after checking for Blaine’s affirmation, relaxing into the story. “When she got back from New York, she found out that Arthur Murray was giving a test for instructors. If you pass, they show you the different dances, how to break them down, how to teach them. She’s been dancing since she was just a little girl, so it was no problem for her. Then she turned around and taught us. It was how she practiced. She always said that if she could teach us, she could teach anyone. And believe me, it came as a huge surprise to all of us that Finn was any good at all.”  
  
“He doesn’t necessarily seem like the type,” Blaine said, trying to be tactful.  
  
“Well, he’s not good at coming up with any steps on his own, but he’s good at doing what he’s told,” Kurt said. “And he’s strong enough to do pretty much any stunt I can think of, so it all works out very well for me when I’m choreographing.”  
  
“I would imagine so,” Blaine commented. “But how did you all end up here?”  
  
“Max really wanted to hire Finn and Quinn. But we’re a package deal.” Kurt didn’t say anything more, and Blaine felt like the topic was closed. He plummeted right back to feeling unsure and on edge, certain that he’d asked the wrong thing.  
  
They watched through the window as Finn and Rachel ran through the basic steps again. To Blaine’s untrained eye, it seemed like Rachel was at least doing that much right. He wondered if they’d break up the session soon. He didn’t have his watch on and he had no idea how much time had passed. It was probably best to leave before he stuck his foot in his mouth again anyway. “I should probably go back to my family’s cabin soon,” he said. “I have to make sure I beat Rachel back. I don’t want her to know I was here.”  
  
“She thinks you’re overprotective?” Kurt surmised.  
  
“Sometimes,” Blaine said, unaccountably feeling a little bashful about it.  
  
“Are you?”  
  
Blaine shrugged. “Sometimes. Probably. I just — she’s always been there for me over the past few years. I want to make sure that I’m here for her too.”  
  
Kurt looked over at him with an openly friendly smile. “Family should always be there. But I still think it’s very sweet of you.”  
  
The words made the color rise in Blaine’s face again, but he didn’t look away. Couldn’t if he had wanted to, not with Kurt’s eyes pinning him in place. _Stop it_ , he scolded himself.  _He’s making eye contact. It’s what people do when they’re being polite. Stop it, stop blushing!_  He managed to get out a “thank you” and a “good-bye” as he shifted away from the tree, walking backwards for a few steps.  
  
“Bye, Blaine. See you,” Kurt replied. He looked at Blaine for just a moment longer, then turned back to the window. Blaine forced himself to turn and walk away normally. There was no way he would have made it down all those stairs backwards anyway.

\- / / -

Things were a little different after that. When he thought back over Kurt’s behavior – which he did more than once – Blaine couldn’t find anything disingenuous about it. It was a relief, and he felt slightly more confident that Kurt wasn’t hiding his distaste at whatever suspicions he might have had. Blaine was starting to wonder if he’d misinterpreted everything. Maybe Kurt hadn’t guessed his secret at all. That was the bright side.  
  
Then, there was the bad news. For the rest of the day, Blaine couldn’t stop thinking about how much he’d enjoyed actually  _talking_ to Kurt. It made something inside of him open up and yearn in a way that it never had while he was thrilling from the bleachers when Rudy made a spectacular jump shot. He’d never said even two words to McKinley’s basketball star — Rudy was popular and handsome, and his social status far surpassed Blaine’s. Ron had been so quiet and studious that Blaine never really knew if he liked his personality or not. But he couldn’t escape the fact that so far, he liked Kurt’s.  
  
He told himself sternly that it didn’t matter, because he knew that it didn’t. Blaine had no choice but to put aside the flutters and stop acting like a smitten schoolboy if he wanted to make it through the next week and a half. He could do it. He would be friendly.  
  
Blaine thought that he did a good job when he tagged along to Rachel’s next lesson — a group affair, where Kurt and Quinn were also present to help. Of course, it wasn’t much of a test. Kurt had greeted him cheerfully and then proceeded to focus solely on whipping Rachel’s mambo into shape. Blaine spent most of his time staying out of the way and trying not to stare too much or too hard.  
  
The second time they met as a group, it was in the shabby second-floor studio that Mr. Kellerman set aside for dance lessons. The weather had taken a dramatic turn for the warmer and stickier, and even though they had opened all the windows they could, the room was still stifling. Drops of sweat were trickling down Blaine’s back after only a few minutes, and he was staying as still as he could. He’d dragged out a table that had been resting along the wall and positioned it next to one of the windows, then pulled himself up on it to sit with his legs crossed, keeping carefully to one side of the window itself. He didn’t want to block any air that might come in and refresh the dancers, but there didn’t seem to be much of that anyway.  
  
At the moment, Kurt was dancing with Quinn to demonstrate some of his revised choreography to Rachel and Finn, who were attempting to imitate it. Blaine tried to divide his attention evenly between the two couples, but his eyes kept dragging back to Kurt, watching with keen interest the way his t-shirt would stretch across his back as he moved and the damp sweat spots that were starting to bloom there. The way his hairline was darkening with moisture and how his arms —   
  
Blaine yanked his gaze away and shifted his legs uncomfortably beneath him. This was not the time for  _that_. He rolled his neck and twisted around to look out the window for a moment, trying to clear his head.  
  
“Hey.” The voice made him jump and he whirled back around. In his distraction, he hadn’t noticed Quinn until she was standing right beside him. A quick glance revealed that Kurt was watching critically while Finn and Rachel tried to effectively carry out a spin.  
  
“Hi,” he responded, unable to force his sluggish brain to find anything else to add.  
  
Quinn peered out the window for a moment, as though she was trying to figure out what he’d been looking at. Blaine suspected that she wouldn’t find it, since he’d been looking very carefully at  _anything but Kurt_. “You know, you don’t have to stay here if you’re bored,” she pointed out, turning back to him. “It’s a lot nicer outside, and there’s always so many activities going on at Kellerman’s.” She sounded a little sardonic.  
  
“This isn’t boring,” Blaine said quickly. “You’re all so talented.”  
  
“Thank you,” Quinn said, smiling at him sweetly. With the animosity he’d been so used to seeing stripped from her features, it was even more clear how pretty she was, and her face was open and engaging. Blaine couldn’t help but grin back.  
  
“Besides, to be honest, I wasn’t all that interested in croquet anyway,” he admitted, leaning in conspiratorially.  
  
Quinn laughed, and then dropped her eyes for a moment, twisting her hands together. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I owe you a huge debt of gratitude. I don’t know how to even begin to thank you.”  
  
Blaine shook his head. “It’s not necessary. Really.”  
  
She looked back up then, her features growing confused and troubled. “Why did you do it?” she asked. “I haven’t been very nice to you or Rachel.”  
  
There was no good way to answer her, not without having to share and explain too much, and Blaine found himself stammering for a moment. He didn’t even know if he completely understood his own motivations. “Oh, I just — wanted to help,” he said, his words unsatisfactory.  
  
“Well, whatever the reason, I can’t thank you enough,” Quinn said.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Blaine replied, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder briefly. The corner of her lips turned up, although there were still worry lines creasing her forehead.  
  
“Have you — have you told anyone else?” she asked.  
  
“Of course not!” he exclaimed. “Why would I do that?”  
  
“I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t mention anything. Not even to…” Her voice trailed off as she glanced at Rachel.  
  
Blaine looked over too, but his attention was diverted when he noticed Kurt watching them closely. He gave Kurt a little smile, and Kurt’s response was more a twisting and tightening of his lips than anything else. Blaine’s heart sank a little to see it, and he wondered if he was being too pushy. Maybe Kurt was just getting frustrated trying to teach Rachel the proper moves, he told himself. “No,” he said vaguely, “I didn’t say anything to Rachel.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really,” Blaine said, turning back to Quinn. “She knows that you need surgery, but as close as I can tell, she thinks you have some kind of cancer. We really haven’t talked about it much.”  
  
Quinn hummed. “I suppose that’s as good of an excuse as any.” Then, suddenly very serious, she turned toward him and covered one of his hands with her own. “Please promise me that you won’t tell her anything. Not what I’m doing, or why, or who’s responsible. Please. I don’t want anyone to know, even if it seems like it doesn’t matter.”  
  
Blaine looked into her eyes, which were pleading with him as much as her words. “I promise,” he whispered.  
  
“Quinn!” Kurt’s voice cut sharply across the studio, making them both of them jump. He was standing with his hands on his hips and his face certainly didn’t look pleased. His irritation was baffling — Blaine thought that Rachel had been doing quite well so far. Had it really gone downhill so quickly? “Do you mind helping me demonstrate something for Rachel?” Kurt continued. “She needs to see how to position herself when she comes out of this turn.”  
  
“Of course,” Quinn said. She gave Blaine’s hand a little squeeze, mouthed  _thank you_  one more time, and then headed back toward the others. Quinn and Kurt repeated the move several times, but even Blaine could tell that Rachel wasn’t quite getting the hang of it. Finally, Quinn batted Kurt and Finn away and acted out the end of the turn on her own. Rachel started mirroring her, and for some reason, it seemed to help.  
  
While the girls continued to dance, Kurt approached the table, leaning against it, so close that Blaine could make out the scent of him. His features had smoothed out considerably. “You know,” he said, “I’m starting to think that this might not be completely terrible.”  
  
“That’s good,” Blaine said. It was, but he was suddenly caught up in staring at the scant few inches between his bent knee and Kurt’s waist. It wouldn’t even be worth the effort for a spider to build a web in so small a space, he thought whimsically.  
  
“She’s picking up on most of it pretty quickly,” Kurt went on. “Of course, we haven’t tried any of the difficult stuff yet, like the lift.”  
  
“The lift?” Blaine asked, forcing himself to focus. “I thought you were changing the choreography to make it easier for her.”  
  
Kurt pursed his lips for a moment. “I did, but the number still has to be a crowd-pleaser, or we won’t be asked to come back and perform next year. I think it should still work. She’s so small, and he’s definitely strong enough. She just has to learn how.”  
  
“Well then, there’s no need to worry,” Blaine said. “If there’s one thing Rachel is, it’s determined. She’ll learn it.” He looked back over at his cousin, who now seemed to be mirroring Quinn’s movements exactly. Finn stood on the other side of the room, gazing at them with a wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression. Blaine arched an eyebrow and cut a quick glance at Kurt, who was also staring, but he was watching Rachel’s feet with a critical eye.  
  
“I certainly hope you’re right,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Note:** (story originally posted spring 2012; link may no longer be active)
> 
>   * _Howdy Doody_ was one of the first television shows for children, and it was extremely popular in the 1950s. To read more about it or see a picture of Buffalo Bob, visit this website: http://www.museum.tv/eotvsection.php?entrycode=howdydoodys.
> 



	5. Chapter 5

On the Tuesday before Finn and Rachel’s performance at the Sheldrake, the group met again in the dance studio. They had cultivated a strange camaraderie over the last few days, tentative friendships developing where they never would have under normal circumstances. Blaine found that, despite his initial impression of her as cold and standoffish, he genuinely liked Quinn. Finn had softened toward him considerably, but he was so focused on making sure that the routine went well that they didn’t have much time to get to know each other any better. And then there was Kurt, Kurt who was handsome and focused and charismatic. He could certainly be acerbic, but he was also so  _nice_ when Blaine got to see glimpses of him with his guard down.  
  
For Blaine, the dance rehearsals were both wonderful and wretched. He’d never spent so much time in the direct company of a man that he felt an attraction to, and he hardly knew how to behave. He looked forward eagerly to each time the group met, but he spent most of his time — both at the rehearsals and outside of them — in turmoil. The roiling tangle of his thoughts and feelings was exhausting, and the strain of constantly keeping a straight face despite all of it was even worse. He found himself looking jealously at Rachel, who was walking around with a secretive sparkle that he hadn’t really seen since her tempestuous relationship with Jesse St. James during their junior year of high school.  
  
However, that glow wasn’t very obvious at the moment. Instead, Rachel was standing with her arms akimbo, glaring at Finn, who was scowling right back. Neither of them was paying much attention to Kurt, who was standing between them, looking none too pleased himself as he tried to explain something. All of them were dripping with sweat.  
  
Quinn and Blaine were sitting off to the side on the table. They’d been chatting a bit — Quinn was trying to elucidate some of the basics of the technique required for the dance — but they were continually being interrupted by the simmering tension in the room. They watched in silence as Kurt finally snapped at Finn and Rachel and stalked back to the record player to restart the song. Rachel, her face still hard, moved back into Finn’s hold as the music started up. Kurt returned and batted her fingertips down so they were folded over Finn’s hand. “Again,” he ordered.  
  
Instead of continuing to watch, Quinn hopped off the table and held out her hand to Blaine. “Want to give it a try?”  
  
“Me? No way!” Blaine protested, laughing and pulling away as she grabbed for his arm.  
  
“You’ve watched it enough times,” Quinn said. “You ought to know the whole thing by now. And I just told you everything else you need to know. Come on.”  
  
Reluctantly, Blaine slid off the table and held up his arms. Quinn took his hand and repositioned him slightly. “Remember, don’t step on the one,” she instructed. “Wait for the two.”  
  
Blaine nodded, looking down at his feet.  
  
“Don’t look down. Look at my face.” Blaine did so, and Quinn gave him an encouraging smile. She counted out two bars of music and when Blaine stepped forward, he knew without having to be told that it was on the wrong beat.  
  
“I’m sorry!” he exclaimed.  
  
“There’s no reason to apologize,” she said patiently. “Don’t step until the two.” She nodded and counted again. Blaine at least managed to move at the correct time, but his steps were tentative and uncoordinated. He knew that Quinn was lying when she praised him with an enthusiastic “Good!” after they’d made it through two bars. He gave her a disbelieving look.  
  
“No, really,” she said. “You got the count that time, and it was only your second try. Again!”  
  
They danced through another two bars of music, and as they drew to a halt, Quinn again commending his performance, Blaine caught sight of Kurt approaching out of the corner of his eye. “Blaine, your frame is terrible,” he said as he drew closer, but he was smiling. “What do you teach them, Quinn?”  
  
“We’ve only been dancing for a few minutes,” Quinn replied haughtily. “I haven’t had time to work out all the kinks yet.”  
  
Blaine had already started to move back, but Kurt shook his head. “No, keep going,” he instructed. Quinn gamely reset herself and Blaine followed suit with a bit less enthusiasm.  
  
Kurt circled them as they began the step again. At their sides, he made a small noise of disapproval. “Blaine, look at this,” he said, grabbing his elbow and wiggling his arm from side to side. “Spaghetti arms. Give me some tension.” Even as his face heated up, Blaine tightened his arm as instructed. Kurt squeezed it as if to test him. “Good! Hold your frame. Keep going.”  
  
They started to dance again, and Quinn whispered to him, no doubt noticing his red face, “There’s no reason to be embarrassed. You’re doing just fine.” Blaine nodded as Kurt moved around to stand behind him.  
  
The sudden grip of Kurt’s hand on his left shoulder made Blaine jump. Kurt pulled on it a bit and pressed his other hand into Blaine’s back between his shoulder blades, where his shirt was growing damp from heat and nerves. “Stand up straight,” Kurt said quietly. “Your posture is important.” He kept his hands there, and Blaine heard his feet shuffle against the floor as he echoed the steps.  
  
Quinn shook Blaine’s arm slightly and said, “Lock your frame.” He managed to do so and she beamed. “See? Look how much better you’re doing already!”  
  
Kurt removed his hands.  
  
Blaine gave Quinn a shaky smile and managed to finish another repetition of the steps. As Quinn drew to a halt with a flourish, Kurt stepped out from behind Blaine. “Don’t tell Max that we gave you a lesson free of charge,” he said, his voice a little flat despite the joke.  
  
“Promise,” Blaine said.  
  
Luckily, he wasn’t forced to stammer out anything more, because they were all interrupted by Rachel. It was immediately clear that she and Finn were arguing again, and her voice was rising as she gestured angrily at him. “…I can’t do the lift, I’m not sure of turns, and the performance is in  _two days_. I’m doing all of this to  _save your ass_ when what I really want to do is drop you on it!” When she finished speaking, her eyes flared wide and she clapped a surprised hand over her mouth.  
  
Even Blaine found his jaw dropping. He’d been on the receiving end of a Rachel Berry temper tantrum more times than he cared to recall, but she generally saved the worst of it for in private, whether she was yelling at him or about something else. He could count the number of times he’d heard her curse on his fingers, and he’d never heard her swear  _at_ someone before. A bit horrified, he waited for Finn’s reaction.  
  
He never heard it. Instead, Kurt clapped his hands once and exclaimed, “Well! I think it’s probably time for a break. What do you say?” He moved quickly across the room and rested a stiff arm on the hard line of Rachel’s shoulders. “Rachel, I need you to try on the dress for me again. Quinn and I will go get it from her room, and we’ll meet you at the door to the dressing rooms at the auditorium in fifteen minutes. Finn, you have a lesson in half an hour, don’t you? We can iron the final wrinkles out of the dance tomorrow. Rachel, maybe you and I can walk through a few of the turns after we work on your dress.”  
  
“Fine,” Rachel said with a sniff.  
  
Finn still didn’t look thrilled, but some of the thunder had left his expression. He unclenched his jaw enough to say, “Yeah, that’s good. I do have a lesson coming in soon.”  
  
“Good,” Kurt said brightly, “because obviously we won’t be getting anything else done here right now.” Both Finn and Rachel’s scowls deepened. “Okay! Dressing room in fifteen?” He cast a pointed look back at Blaine and Quinn.  
  
Blaine quickly jumped to action. He rushed to Rachel’s side and began to guide her toward the stairs. “Come on,” he said. “If we hurry, we can swing by the cabin and say hi to Hiram and Shelby. Tell them we’ll meet them for dinner after we take a walk. Or something.”  
  
Rachel nodded, clearly still agitated. She stomped down the stairs, thrust open the door, and, moving heedlessly, bumped straight into an elderly woman walking past. The woman dropped her oversized handbag, the contents spilling out onto the ground.  
  
“Oh!” Rachel exclaimed. “Mrs. Schumacher! I’m so sorry!” She bent at once and started gathering the spilled items — lipsticks and tissues and what looked like several wallets. Blaine hadn’t thought that Mrs. Schumacher was particularly dotty when he’d met her a few days prior, but now he wasn’t so sure. He stooped to pick up another wallet — this one definitely in a men’s style — and a bottle of what looked like hand lotion.  
  
“Here you go,” he said. “Please accept our apologies.”  
  
Mrs. Schumacher accepted her belongings with a smile, tucking them back into her bag. “Such junk, such junk! Thank you so much. You both have lovely manners!” She squeezed Blaine’s arm and went on her way.  
  
Blaine looked at Rachel and raised his eyebrows. “I know you’re upset, but please try not to run down any more little old ladies.”  
  
Rachel pressed her hands briefly to her face. “I just want this to go perfectly,” she moaned, “but I don’t know the routine well enough. I’m going to get up on that stage and mess something up, and not only will I embarrass myself, but I’m going to disappoint everyone.”  
  
Frowning with concern, Blaine tugged her into a quick hug. “Well, you won’t be able to go on stage at all if your dress isn’t ready. Let’s get that taken care of and then we’ll worry about everything else, okay?”  
  
“Okay.” She snuffled briefly into his shoulder, and then peeled away, nodding with a new determination. “I can do this.”

\- / / -

Kurt and Quinn were already waiting in the hall outside the dressing rooms when Blaine and Rachel arrived. Quinn was holding one of her own dresses, which Kurt — who, as it turned out, was surprisingly handy with a needle and thread — was altering to fit Rachel’s frame. She whisked Rachel into the room to help her change, leaving Blaine alone with Kurt in the hallway. Kurt immediately slumped against the wall, letting his head thunk back as he closed his eyes and sighed.  
  
“How are things with Finn?” Blaine asked, doing his best to ignore how Kurt’s posture put the long column of his neck on display.  
  
“Oh, he’ll get over it,” Kurt said. “He’ll get over it if I have to force him to myself. Believe it or not, I think he’s actually sweet on your cousin, so he doesn’t like it when he gets frustrated with her. He also doesn’t know what to do when she gets mad.”  
  
Blaine hummed thoughtfully. “Well, she’s pretty fond of him too. I think part of the reason she’s so worried about getting the dance right is that she doesn’t want to let him down.”  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes. “They certainly have a funny way of showing they care.”  
  
Blaine couldn’t help but snort out a little laugh at that. He scuffed his feet along the beaten-down carpeting for a moment, and then Quinn stuck her head out of the door to let them know that Rachel was ready.  
  
When they entered, Rachel was standing in the middle of the dressing room, barefoot and wearing the red dress. Blaine had been scandalized when he’d first seen it, but one of Kurt’s first alterations had been to sew up the front to make it more modest. He circled her now, pausing to readjust one of the straps that looped behind Rachel’s neck and secure it with a pin. Quinn had moved to sit on a battered sofa on one side of the room, and Blaine moved to join her.  
  
“So,” he asked, “do you think they’ll pull it off?”  
  
Quinn smiled grimly, but then her face fell. “They don’t have much of a choice now. I hope so. Both Finn and Kurt gave me most of what was left of their salaries. If they don’t do well, the Sheldrake might refuse to pay them. And then I’ll feel awful because I needed so much money to fix my dumb mistake.”  
  
“Quinn… they’re your best friends. I’m sure they’re more than happy to help you.”  
  
“They shouldn’t have had to,” Quinn muttered. She looked over at Rachel and Kurt, who seemed to be absorbed in discussing the length of the skirt. As she turned back, she dropped her voice and spoke again with a quiet resolve. “Look, Blaine, I want you to know something. I don’t sleep around, no matter what Noah might have told you.”  
  
Blaine colored. “I never thought —”  
  
“I thought he loved me,” Quinn interrupted. “I really thought it was something special, otherwise I wouldn’t have… Anyway, I just wanted you to know that.”  
  
She was looking down, and Blaine reached over to touch her shoulder. He didn’t know what to say, and he was brought up short when Quinn raised her eyes again. They were shining with tears. “I’m really scared,” she whispered.  
  
Blaine rubbed her shoulder. He wanted to do more, to hug her maybe, but he could see how hard she was struggling to keep her face neutral. She couldn’t react and he couldn’t either, because Rachel didn’t know. A quick glance revealed that Kurt had spun her so that she was facing the other direction while he shot concerned glances toward the couch. Blaine shook his head a little at Kurt and turned back to Quinn. “It’s going to be okay,” he said softly, squeezing his hand. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”  
  
Quinn gave him a watery smile. “Thanks.” She took a deep breath and wiped quickly at her eyes. “Turn around, Rachel,” she called. “Let’s see how it looks.”

\- / / -

When Blaine woke up the following morning, he found his legs twisted in his sheets and his hips pressed down hard into the mattress. He breathed out a sharp, startled “huh” when he realized what was happening — or, more accurately, what had just happened — and he tried to make sense of the last clinging remnants of his dreams. Blaine had to admit a lack of knowledge when it came to just what the physical aspect of being attracted to other men entailed, but his body didn’t seem to have any problem carrying things through to their natural conclusion without details, especially when it was spurred on by the sense memory of a strong hand pressing firmly into his back.  
  
Blaine groaned and buried his face in his pillow. This was getting out of hand. He knew — as a result of a clinical and very embarrassing discussion with Hiram some years back — that it was perfectly normal for young men to become aroused during the night. It wasn’t often, however, that he woke up rutting into his bedclothes. He could only blame the past week and the way he’d spent so much of it watching Kurt’s body move while he danced, talking to him, and now feeling his hands —  
  
Blaine made another frustrated noise. Luckily, the performance at the Sheldrake would be over in less than forty-eight hours, and then he wouldn’t have to interact with Kurt anymore, no matter how much he liked to and how much he believed that they would have been friends under different circumstances. He rolled out of his tangled bedding made a mental note to slip away from the others at breakfast and request a change of sheets.

The group had agreed to meet again for the final rehearsal later in the afternoon. Rachel slipped away on time, but Blaine got caught up in a discussion with Hiram and one of Hiram’s new friends about his plans for the future. By the time he managed to extricate himself and head for the dance studio, he was running almost twenty minutes late.  
  
Which was why Blaine was surprised to see that Kurt was the only person there when he reached the top of the stairs. “Am I — the first one?” he asked, with a confused look at his watch. How had he made it there before Rachel?  
  
“No,” Kurt said. “The last one, actually.”  
  
“They’re done already?” Blaine asked incredulously.  
  
“Not by a long shot,” Kurt replied, sounding agitated. “Finn and Rachel left to go practice lifts on their own. The studio isn’t always the best place.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Sometimes the best place to practice lifts is in the water,” Kurt said.  
  
Blaine frowned at the cryptic response. “They went to the beach?”  
  
Kurt was regarding him cautiously now. “No. There’s a little inlet not far from here by car. I know where it is if you want to — check on them. Watch.”  
  
“Oh,” Blaine said. He couldn’t deny the fact that the idea of Rachel being alone with Finn in some secluded little bay made him uncomfortable. At the same time, he couldn’t see any way to justify descending on them like a militant, overbearing chaperone. Rachel had said it herself: they were all adults now. He did his best to push aside the unpleasant little twist of worry in his stomach. “No, thank you. I’m pretty sure that Rachel might actually murder me if I showed up. Where’s Quinn?”  
  
“She’s not feeling very well, so she went back to her room to lie down.”  
  
“That’s too bad,” Blaine said sympathetically. An idea flashed suddenly into has mind, one that made his heart pick up speed. It started to tumble out of his mouth before he’d even really decided to say the words. “So, does that mean you have a free afternoon? Can I challenge you to a game of table tennis? Rachel won’t play against me anymore.”  
  
Kurt looked like he was smiling despite an earnest effort not to. “Table tennis?”  
  
“Yeah. She’s mad at me because I stopped letting her win.”  
  
“That’s very impolite of you,” Kurt pointed out.  
  
“So was her gloating,” Blaine retorted.  
  
Kurt snorted, but the look of amusement was rapidly dropping off his face. “I can’t,” he said. “We’re not allowed to participate in the recreational activities unless we’re helping to lead them. Besides, Mrs. Zimmer signed up for a last minute dance lesson, so I have to stick around here.”  
  
Blaine was gaping. “You’re not allowed to participate in — but what do you  _do_? That’s not fair.”  
  
With a shrug, Kurt moved over to the shelves on one wall that housed a collection of records. He started shuffling through several of them. “We work. I help out in the kitchen a lot.”  
  
“No, I mean — what do you do for fun?”  
  
“Get together and dance,” Kurt said. “Read, sometimes. Listen to records.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Blaine inquired with interest. “What kinds of records?”  
  
“All kinds, I suppose. I really like musicals.”  
  
“Me too!” Blaine exclaimed.  
  
“You like musicals?” Kurt asked him, disbelief coloring his tone. His hands paused for a minute before he resumed sorting the albums into several different piles.  
  
“Yeah,” Blaine said. “I do. Why are you asking like that?”  
  
“I just figured that you’d be the kind of person who’s more interested in — oh, I don’t know — football.” Kurt waved a hand in his general direction, still looking down.  
  
“I  _do_ like football,” Blaine responded, pulling himself up into his usual perch on the table by the window. “But I like musicals too. I’d never survive living with Rachel if I didn’t. You should see her record collection.”  
  
“I can only imagine,” Kurt said airily. “So, which one is your favorite?”  
  
Blaine started to respond but reined himself in abruptly. It felt oddly like a test, and he didn’t want to give the wrong answer, not when it seemed like Kurt was listening so keenly. “Um, I like  _Camelot_.”  
  
Kurt nodded, continuing to make stacks out of the record albums, and Blaine was relieved to see that he didn’t look too disappointed. Then, to his surprise, Kurt opened his mouth and began to sing. “ _If ever I would leave you, it wouldn’t be in summer. Seeing you in summer, I would never go…_ ” It was just a few short lines in a soft voice that trailed away, pitched several octaves higher than Robert Goulet’s rich baritone, but it left Blaine wide-eyed.  
  
“Kurt,” he said. Kurt glanced over and gave a questioning hum. “That’s what your singing voice sounds like?”  
  
Kurt’s shoulders had stiffened before Blaine had even finished the question. He turned back to the records. “No, Blaine, I was whistling,” he replied, his voice thick with sarcasm.  
  
“Stop it!” Blaine insisted. “You should sing something else.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“But — your voice is amazing!”  
  
“Amazingly unique, maybe,” Kurt said, his brow furrowed.  
  
“Sing something else,” Blaine demanded. He considered for a moment, then tacked on a, “please?”  
  
Abandoning the record albums, Kurt turned to face Blaine, crossing his arms. “No.”  
  
“Oh, come on,” Blaine wheedled. “Your voice is great.”  
  
Kurt’s frown seemed to fade a bit as he searched Blaine’s face, but his expression remained critical. Without warning, he dropped his arms to his sides, standing straight to sing again, his voice high and clear. “ _I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night, and still have begged for more. I could have spread my wings and done a thousand things I’ve never done before. I’ll never know what made it so exciting, why all at once my heart took flight._ ” This time, he stopped abruptly in the middle of the verse, looking at Blaine with one eyebrow arched.  
  
“ _My Fair Lady_ ,” Blaine said when it became clear that Kurt wasn’t going to continue.  
  
“Okay, maybe you do know a few musicals,” Kurt conceded with a sigh. “But… I think it’s your turn now.”  
  
“My turn?”  
  
Kurt nodded, ambling toward him. “If I recall correctly, there’s someone else here who’s spent time in glee club.”  
  
Blaine sat up a little straighter. “You want me to sing?”  
  
“I sang for you,” Kurt said. “It would make things fair.”  
  
Blaine would have expected to feel more nervous, especially given the fact that he was fairly rusty, but instead he just felt an excited flutter. He’d always enjoyed performing. In fact, he’d already started running through songs in his head. He smiled suddenly when he happened upon a song — he wouldn’t sound his best because his voice wasn’t warmed up, but Kurt’s hadn’t been either. With a deep breath, he began, “ _Could be… who knows? There’s something due any day. I will know right away soon as it shows._ ” Unable to stop himself, he flared out his hands as he sang the next line, making gestures and flourishes along with instrumentation that wasn’t there. “ _It may come cannonballing down through sky, gleam in it’s eye, bright as a rose. Who knows?_ ”  
  
He was prepared to go on, but Kurt held up a hand to stop him. “All right, all right,” he grumbled. “You’ve made your point.” Blaine might have been insulted, but he thought he could see a smile hovering around the edge of Kurt’s mouth.  
  
“You can’t judge a book by its cover,” Blaine admonished, grinning.  
  
“I suppose not,” Kurt said. He paused just briefly before adding, “You have a very nice voice.”  
  
“Thank you,” Blaine replied, and then they were staring at each other again as several long seconds ticked by. Or maybe, Blaine thought as Kurt stepped back, seeming flustered as he turned his gaze to a clock mounted on the wall, Blaine was staring and Kurt was just politely maintaining eye contact. Or trying to figure out what was wrong with him.  
  
Possibly the latter, given the way Kurt was now uncomfortably clearing his throat. “Mrs. Zimmer is going to be here in a few minutes,” he announced. “You should probably go. It would be better if it’s just me when she gets here.”  
  
“Oh, sure,” Blaine mumbled, scooting forward off the table. The rush he’d gotten from singing evaporated quickly and he jammed his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”  
  
“Thanks,” Kurt said. His voice was short as he went back to the records, shifting one stack so it sat beside the record player and moving the others back to the shelves.  
  
Blaine stopped for a moment at the top of the stairs. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” he said.  
  
“I’ll see you then,” Kurt said without even looking at him. Blaine frowned and turned to leave.

\- / / -

Blaine and Rachel arrived at Kurt and Finn’s cabin as soon as they dared the following evening after Hiram and Shelby left for bingo. Rachel had been in top form, beginning to complain of a headache shortly before dinner. The food didn’t help, she lamented later, as she repeatedly voiced her plans to stay in and relax that night. Blaine, of course, volunteered to keep her company, which they both hoped would stop her parents from coming back to the cabin to check on her. With any luck, they would assume that Blaine and Rachel were both sleeping behind their closed bedroom doors when they returned, and would be none the wiser that Blaine and Rachel had ever been gone.  
  
Kurt and Finn, by virtue of being brothers and willing to share accommodations, stayed in a large one-room cabin at the edge of the woods, set slightly apart from the other staff lodging. Like most of the staff buildings, it was in a state of poor repair, with torn window screens and a door that almost fell off its hinges when Kurt opened it to let them in. Blaine glanced around after entering, trying not to make it too apparent that he was doing so. There were two beds pushed against the walls to his left and right, a record player on a spindly table opposite the door, and a few chairs and chests of drawers tucked into corners. The room gave the impression of being lived in, with a few shirts and magazines and records and pairs of shoes tossed about. Admittedly, there was more clutter on one side than the other.  
  
Kurt shifted on his feet, scratching in an absent, uncomfortable way at one of his arms. “I guess it’s — not really a great room,” he said. “You probably have a really nice room.”  
  
“No!” Blaine exclaimed, gesturing vaguely. “It’s a great room!”  
  
“Mmhmm,” Kurt hummed in response, sounding skeptical. He motioned toward a chair at the end of the bed on the neater side of the room. “You can have a seat over there, if you want. I managed to get Finn to move his t-shirt collection for the time being. Rachel, there’s a mirror over there if you want to do your makeup.”  
  
“Thank you,” Rachel said primly. “The lighting is less than ideal, of course, but I’ll make do.” She arranged herself in front of a mirror propped against the wall atop a lowboy at the other side of the room.  
  
“So,” Kurt said, hovering in the middle of the room, “the Sheldrake is about twenty minutes away. I know you don’t want to be walking around here in your dress, Rachel, so you’ll have to change on the way. Finn left to put gas in the car, but he should be back soon.”  
  
“That sounds fine,” Rachel said, confidently smearing makeup over one eye. “As long as you all promise not to look,” she added sternly.  
  
“Oh, I promise. Blaine, you and I will watch from backstage. We’ll have to leave as soon as the performance is over — they don’t like us hanging around, and we’ll want to get back and see how Quinn is doing.”  
  
“Of course,” Blaine said.  
  
The door swung open then, and Finn stepped in. “Okay, the car’s all ready to go,” he announced. He caught and held Rachel’s eyes in the mirror. “Hi, Rachel,” he said, adding Blaine’s name several seconds later as an afterthought.  
  
“Hello, Finn,” Rachel replied, her voice going breathy. Blaine found himself wondering, not for the first time, whether something more than just dance rehearsal had happened at the lake the previous day. Rachel had returned starry-eyed, and it was plain to see now that they had reconciled.  
  
“Hi,” he said again.  
  
“Okay,” Kurt interjected loudly. “Finn, where’s your tie?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Your tie, Finn. It goes around your neck and makes a bow in the front. Where is it?”  
  
“Oh, I think I left it over here somewhere…”  
  
While Finn and Kurt started rummaging through drawers and piles of clothing, Blaine’s eyes surreptitiously darted around the cabin. Rachel was paying him no attention — she was adept at putting on stage makeup after so many years and had moved on to pinning up her hair.  
  
Other than what Blaine had already seen, there wasn’t much else to take in. There were no decorations, no pictures of family or friends or matinee idols. The beds were neatly made with what looked to be the same standard-issue linens that adorned every mattress at Kellerman’s. Blaine’s gaze drifted lower. He could see a row of shoes under the bed that he was sitting closest to, and what appeared to be the corner of a magazine. Blaine started to look away, but his eyes snapped back abruptly. He glanced back to the room to make sure that everyone else was still absorbed in what they were doing, then leaned over, just a little. The cover was mostly obscured by the darkness under the bed and the edge of a shoe, so at first he wasn’t sure if he was seeing it correctly. But when he really looked, it was hard to miss the logo, bold and stark in black and white.  
  
 _one_ , he read.  
  
And in smaller capital letters below that, trailing away into the shadows,  _the homosexual viewp…_  
  
“Found it!” Finn shouted, making Blaine jump and bolt upright again in his seat. “I don’t know how it ended up under my bed.” He stood triumphantly at the other side of the room, holding up a black bow tie.  
  
Kurt humphed out an annoyed sigh. “Finn, when will you learn to take better care of your things? Is it wrinkled?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“Well, that’s surprising. Come over here. Rachel needs the mirror, so I’ll tie it for you.”  
  
Breathing shallowly, Blaine dared a glance up at Kurt, who was focused on Finn’s tie. It was like seeing a different person, all the lines of him redrawn, making him into someone that Blaine had never met before. Because if Finn found the tie over  _there_ , then that meant that this was definitely Kurt’s bed, and that meant that the magazine was  _his_. And he wouldn’t have it unless —  _would he_? Blaine wondered. What other possible reason could there be? He had to look away, otherwise Kurt was going to find him staring like a maniac. Blaine wound up gazing blankly out one of the windows, the buzz of the room fading behind the rush in his ears, his thoughts whirling by too fast to latch onto.  
  
He had no idea how much time had passed before he was brought abruptly back to the present by Kurt’s voice saying sharply, “Blaine! Are you ready to go?”  
  
Blaine looked dimly up at Kurt standing there, tall and handsome and… and just like him?  
  
Kurt’s eyebrows twitched down slightly when there was no response. “Blaine?” he asked again. Behind him, Rachel and Finn looked on curiously.  
  
There were more important things to worry about at the moment, Blaine realized. He shook his head a little. “Yes, sorry. Just — woolgathering. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Notes:** (story originally posted spring 2012; links may no longer be active)
> 
>   * The first song that Kurt sings is "If I Would Ever Leave You" from _Camelot_. You can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGU3OGoAYZ4. As mentioned, Kurt sings it in a higher key. _Camelot _began its original run on Broadway in 1960.__
>   * The second song that Kurt sings is "I Could Have Danced All Night" from _My Fair Lady_. Julie Andrews originated the role of Eliza Doolittle on Broadway in 1956, and you can hear her version here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNaIor5lxN8. 
>   * The song that Blaine sings is, of course, "Something's Coming" from _West Side Story_. The original Broadway production started its run in 1957, and the movie was released in 1961. The movie version is here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xu7sRdRrm_w. And, just in case you need a refresher, you can listen to the Blaine Anderson version here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xonM7wWWlRI.
>   * Kurt has the April 1963 edition of _One, The Homosexual Viewpoint_ stashed under his bed. You can see the cover here: http://www.iobabooks.com/books/419554444.html.
> 



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to put one of the chapter notes at the top this time around. As I've mentioned, I got the title for this story from the song "Cry to Me" by Solomon Burke, which appears in this chapter. Should you want to listen to it as you read when it becomes appropriate, you can do so here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEu8DrO9PbY.

Blaine was fairly sure that he didn’t relax a single muscle during the entire twenty-minute ride to the Sheldrake. He couldn’t remember ever being so consciously careful to not touch another person. With Rachel taking the entire backseat to herself to change clothes, Blaine, Kurt, and Finn were all sharing the front seat. Although Kurt was taller than Blaine, he’d offered to sit in the middle beside Finn, which actually was the most comfortable arrangement for Blaine. The only problem was that he wasn’t comfortable at all.  
  
There was just enough room on the seat for all three of them to sit without touching each other, but the space between Blaine’s thigh and Kurt’s was slight. Their shoulders brushed slightly every time the car went over a bump or around a curve, no matter how hard Blaine pressed himself into the door.  
  
It wasn’t that he minded having his shoulder brush Kurt’s — quite the contrary, if he was being honest — but it felt fraught with  _something_ now. He just didn’t know what that something was.  
  
When they arrived at the Sheldrake, Blaine practically tumbled from the car. He barely got to look around before Kurt was hurrying them inside, where they checked in with the entertainment director and were hustled backstage. By the time Rachel and Finn were standing onstage and a strident voice was announcing “The Sheldrake Hotel is proud to present Finn Hudson and partner in Mambo Madness!”, it seemed like only a few seconds had passed.  
  
The spotlight flared on, illuminating Finn and Rachel. Even from a distance and in profile, Blaine could see how pale and nervous Rachel looked under her stage makeup. She reminded him suddenly of a little girl playing dress up, and he couldn’t understand why she was so scared. Rachel loved being in front of an audience, and she had plenty of experience singing and dancing on stage. He supposed these circumstances were a bit different.  
  
Beside him, Kurt was holding himself tensely. He was standing close to Blaine’s left side as though for comfort, and he had one hand curled over his mouth. He might have actually been biting his fingernails, but Blaine couldn’t tell.  
  
The routine started well. Or at least it seemed to be going well in Blaine’s estimation, which certainly wasn’t expert. The stiffness was slowly leaving Kurt’s shoulders, though, which seemed to be a good sign, and by the time the number was half over, he’d actually dropped his hand from his mouth to grip his elbows.  
  
Then came time for the lift.  
  
Rachel backed up to one side of the stage, and Finn retreated to the other, nodding encouragingly at her. She flew towards him —  
  
And came to a screeching halt, colliding with his arms and jamming them back into his chest. With a panicked look, she spun toward the audience and made a few hitch-hiking gestures that looked like they were straight out of the hand jive.  
  
Kurt gasped in horror and moaned, “Oh,  _no_.”  
  
Onstage, Finn had twirled Rachel back around and was moving through the end of the routine. Blaine hazarded a glance at Kurt and found him staring up at the ceiling with his mouth ajar, shaking his head in despair.  
  
“Hey,” Blaine whispered. Kurt didn’t respond, so, despite his earlier reticence, Blaine bent toward Kurt and nudged his arm lightly with his shoulder. “It’s fine. They’re still going. The audience likes them.” In fact, the audience was currently applauding a less complicated spinning lift.  
  
Kurt swiveled his head back down to stare at Blaine, a look of long-suffering disbelief written all over his face. Which, given the fact that Blaine had just shuffled toward him, was really very close to Blaine’s. As the moment stretched out between them, Kurt’s irritated look was melting away, his eyes rounding and his lips —  _his lips_. Blaine was  _staring at them_ , and was he even leaning forward a little? He snapped his gaze back up to meet Kurt’s and found it stricken and confused.  
  
They jumped swiftly apart when Rachel and Finn appeared in front of them, winded from the dance. “I’m sorry!” Rachel was babbling. “I’m so sorry! I just — I froze, and I couldn’t —”  
  
“Hey, it’s okay,” Finn spoke over her rambling. “You did really good. Hear them clapping? You were great.”  
  
“I was so worried when I saw the Schumachers walking in. Blaine — the Schumachers are out there.”  
  
“What?” Blaine asked. He was distressed and agitated and he had no idea what Rachel was talking about. He glanced over at Kurt, who was staring at the floor, his brow furrowed.  
  
“The Schumachers. You know the little old couple from Kellerman’s? She dropped her purse the other day?”  
  
Blaine still hadn’t managed to wrap his whirling mind around what was happening when the entertainment director reappeared. “Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Hudson,” he said to Finn, extending an envelope. “We’ll look forward to seeing you again… with your usual partner.”  
  
Rachel’s mouth thinned into a severe line, and Blaine pulled himself together enough to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Great, shall we?” he croaked out. Rachel nodded tersely while Finn thanked the man, who encouraged them to be quickly on their way.  
  
As they headed for the parking lot, Finn and Rachel led the way, keeping close together. Blaine and Kurt followed behind, walking a pace apart and not looking at each other even once.

\- / / -

Blaine was even more uncomfortable on the ride back to Kellerman’s than he had on the way to the Sheldrake. Kurt was holding himself stiffly, and Blaine felt like tension was pouring off of him in waves. Blaine shoved himself as close as he could to the door, unable to think about anything except – what if he’d been wrong?  
  
Why else would he have the magazine? Blaine couldn’t come up with any other explanation for it that made sense. He’d toyed with the idea that Kurt had bought it for someone else, but even that was hard to believe. The magazine hadn’t looked new, and it was half buried under a shoe and some dust bunnies.  
  
As if Blaine didn’t have enough on his mind, he’d noticed that Finn  _was_ darting his eyes up to the rear-view mirror this time to sneak glances at Rachel. With Kurt in between them, he was having a hard time catching Finn’s eye to glare — or Finn was just ignoring him.  
  
Kurt, however, stared straight ahead through the windshield, even though the rearview mirror was practically hitting him in the forehead.  
  
 _Maybe it doesn’t mean anything that he’s not looking_ , Blaine thought. Maybe Kurt liked girls, but he didn’t like _Rachel_. Maybe he wasn’t looking out of respect for Finn.  
  
But then why did he have the magazine? Blaine wondered for what felt like the millionth time that evening. He had to be. Somehow, the thought was even worse than the possibility that he was wrong about Kurt entirely, because it might mean that Kurt was just like Blaine, but he wasn’t particularly interested in Blaine.  
  
Finally, tired of listening to his thoughts chase themselves in circles, Blaine huffed and turned to practically hang out the open window, doing his best to ignore everything going on in the car. He looked up at the stars visible overhead in the clear night sky and tried to focus on the radio instead. It was playing “Some Kind of Wonderful” by the Drifters.  _Right_ , Blaine thought.  
  
When they pulled up in the staff parking lot at Kellerman’s, Finn was out of the car almost before he’d turned off the engine, nearly tripping in his rush to open Rachel’s door. Blaine, who’d again escaped from the car as soon as he was able, looked over the top of it to see her step out, standing close to Finn’s chest and smiling up at him shyly. They were suddenly obscured when Kurt emerged from the car after Blaine. His eyes met Blaine’s for the first time since they had been standing backstage, and they were guarded.  
  
They were all distracted by the sharp scuffing sound of someone running toward them across the gravel. Blaine vaguely recognized him as the man who’d cut in on Finn and Quinn the first night that he’d visited the staff cabin. “Sam, what it is it?” Finn asked as he came to a halt beside the car, breathing heavily.  
  
“It’s Quinn. Come quick.” He turned and headed back toward the cabins that housed the staff. Finn and Kurt exchanged a worried look and followed close on his heels. Without a word, Blaine and Rachel hurried along behind.  
  
All along the long porch at the front of Quinn’s building, members of the staff huddled in small groups, their faces drawn and eyes wide as they watched Finn and Kurt rush by, and a few more were clustered in the corners of Quinn’s room. Blaine shouldered his way in the door, and his heart and his stomach dropped when he edged around Sam and got a good look at the girl on the bed.  
  
If he hadn’t known it was Quinn, he might not have recognized her. All the color was drained from her face, leaving a sickly gray in its place — even her lips seemed pale. Her hair was dark with sweat and matted down to her head where it lolled on the pillow. The bottom half of her body was twisted up, both hands on her abdomen, like she was trying to curl around the pain there but couldn’t quite manage to do so. Blaine could see smudges of blood on the blanket.  
  
Finn and Kurt had dropped instantly to their knees beside the bed. Kurt took one of Quinn’s hands while Finn brushed her hair back from her forehead. Her eyes fluttered open, and she weakly choked out, “Hi.”  
  
“We’re here, Quinn. We’re here for you,” Finn said, a quaver evident in his voice.  
  
“Has anyone called an ambulance?” Kurt bit out. He cast a wild look at the others assembled in the room.  
  
Sam stepped forward. “She wouldn’t let us,” he said desperately. “She said the hospital would call the police. She made me promise.”  
  
Blaine had seen Kurt glare before, but it was nothing compared to the furious expression on his face now. “She wouldn’t  _let you_? Look at her! What happened?” Behind him, Finn continued to hold Quinn’s attention and speak soothingly.  
  
“He didn’t use ether, nothing,” Sam stuttered out. “We could hear her screaming from outside.”  
  
“I thought he was a real M.D.!” Blaine exclaimed, and several heads swiveled toward him as though they had forgotten he was there.  
  
“The guy had a dirty knife and a folding table,” Sam continued, still speaking to Kurt and Finn. “I tried to get in, guys. I swear to god.”  
  
Blaine didn’t wait to hear any more. He peeled away from Rachel’s side and bolted for the door, sprinting hard once he was outside of it, not worrying about conserving his breath or anything other than moving as fast as he could. His footsteps were loud in the dark, and he heard  _my fault, my fault_  in his head, throbbing along with them and the beat of his heart. He’d gotten the money. Quinn was – and he  _paid_ for it.  
  
 _Botched procedure. Untrained practitioner._ The words bubbled up from his memory and spurred him to an even faster pace.  
  
Only when he neared his own cabin did Blaine slow down. He kept moving as quickly as he could, but he tried to stay as quiet as possible. He crept into Hiram and Shelby’s room, relieved to see that he hadn’t awoken them. He shook Hiram’s shoulder gently. “Blaine?” his uncle asked groggily. “Is something wrong? Is it Rachel?”  
  
In response, Blaine shook his head and held up the black doctor’s kit that Hiram always kept next to his bedroom door, both at home and on vacation. Hiram eased himself out of bed at once, and they were soon headed back to the staff quarters.  
  
Not much had changed in Quinn’s room. Kurt and Sam were arguing heatedly in one corner, presumably over whether to call an ambulance. Finn had taken the hand that Kurt had abandoned and was continuing to speak softly to Quinn.  
  
“Excuse me!” Hiram said, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “Excuse me, thank you. I’m going to need everyone to clear out. Everybody out, please. Who’s responsible for this girl?”  
  
“I am, sir,” Finn volunteered, standing awkwardly and hovering near the bed. Rachel stayed beside him with one hand on his arm.  
  
Hiram, who had moved to sit beside Quinn on the bed, looked up at them, his expression unreadable. “Thank you. Everyone out, please.”  
  
Finn’s face worked for a few seconds, but eventually, he gave Quinn one last anxious look and left the room, Rachel and Blaine following close behind.  
  
The wait was interminable. Blaine didn’t have any idea how much time passed — it truly could have been minutes or hours. It was enough time for Kurt to stop wearing a path in front of Quinn’s door and slump against the railing. It was enough time that Rachel went from standing a foot away from Finn, to a few inches away, to being sidled up against him. Several of the other staff members stayed to wait, clustered on the porches, talking in low, worried voices.  
  
Everyone started when the door swung open, falling silent in unison. When Hiram strode out, his face was grim, and Finn choked out, “Please, sir, is she —”  
  
“She’s going to be fine,” Hiram said coolly.  
  
A sigh seemed to escape everyone all at once. Kurt and Finn exchanged relieved looks and then turned eagerly back to Hiram, each sticking out a hand to shake and tripping over the other’s grateful words of thanks.  
  
Hiram raised his hand, and Blaine lifted his eyebrows in surprise — but then he only used it to slide his arm around Rachel’s shoulders and guide her down the stairs. Blaine shot an apologetic look at Kurt and Finn and moved to follow. They walked in a terse silence until they had left the staff cabins far behind. Then Hiram stopped abruptly.  
  
“Is that what my money paid for?” he asked, turning to face Blaine. Rachel stared at Blaine wide-eyed.  
  
“I’m sorry — I didn’t know —” he stammered.  
  
“I’m disappointed, Blaine.” Hiram spoke quietly, but the words cut through him in a way that yelling never would. Blaine averted his eyes and hung his head. “I don’t want either one of you to have anything to do with those people, ever again. Do you understand?” Blaine nodded minutely. Rachel said nothing, and Blaine assumed that she was nodding along with him. “Good. I’m going to bed, and you kids are going to do the same.”  
  
Without another word, he started walking again. Rachel was watching Blaine, and for the first time in years, he didn’t know how to read her eyes. Was she more disappointed or confused? Sad? Worried? He tightened his lips, looked at his feet, and trailed after Hiram. Inside the cabin, they parted ways without saying good night.  
  
Once he was alone in his room, Blaine didn’t make any preparations for bed other than stripping down to his t-shirt and underwear before flopping onto the bed. He tried lying on his stomach, then his side, then his back. He flipped his pillow over once, then again. It was all to no avail — he couldn’t even imagine falling asleep anytime soon. The air in his room felt thick and stifling, and there was no breeze from his open window, which was facing the wrong direction. Blaine sat up and sighed. There really was no use. He slipped into a pair of jeans and crept out through the main room and onto the porch. After turning a chair so that the air would move against his face, Blaine collapsed into it and tried valiantly to clear his mind.  
  
He couldn’t have been there for more than five minutes when he heard footsteps and the whispered sound of his name. Blaine spun around, surprised to see Kurt cutting toward him across the cabin’s small yard. “I thought that was you,” he said.  
  
“Kurt. What are you doing here?” Blaine asked, keeping his voice as low as possible.  
  
“I couldn’t sleep. I was just out walking,” Kurt said. He’d changed out of the clothes he’d worn to the Sheldrake as well and had his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. “Can I talk to you?”  
  
Blaine cast a nervous glance at the open window to Hiram and Shelby’s bedroom. “Not here,” he whispered. Kurt nodded and jerked his head back in the direction that he’d come.  
  
Blaine shuffled along beside Kurt, too nervous to even raise his eyes. Everything that had happened with Quinn had erased the earlier part of the evening from his mind, but now the confusion and the dread and the worry had returned in full force. Distracted, he kept his head down and matched Kurt’s footsteps, not even realizing where Kurt was going until they were closing in on the building that housed the dance studio. It was dark inside, but Kurt stopped Blaine as he reached for the lights. “We don’t want anyone to get suspicious,” he said quietly. “It’s brighter upstairs. Come on.”  
  
The studio itself was a little better, faintly illuminated by the exterior lights on the next building. Kurt moved to stand beside the record player, and Blaine was careful to keep a wary distance, moving to the center of the room. He cleared his throat and asked, “How’s Quinn?”  
  
“She’s resting,” Kurt said. “Your uncle gave her something to help her sleep. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about actually. I can’t thank you enough for what you did for her.”  
  
“What I did? I helped her pay for the procedure that almost killed her!” Blaine exclaimed.  
  
Kurt flinched at the word. “There was no way you could have known. None of us did, and we all helped pay for it. Don’t blame yourself. You helped save her too.”  
  
“I just — I don’t think I deserve any thanks, that’s all. I only did what anyone would have done.”  
  
“Anyone? None of them even called an ambulance,” Kurt scoffed.  
  
Blaine shook his head. “All I did was run and tell my uncle. It’s not a big deal.”  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt said seriously, “it was really brave of you to go to him. We were all too scared to even make a decision. You went to him for the money, too. And you tried to get it from Puck first. Aren’t you scared of anything?”  
  
“Me?” Blaine asked incredulously, his voice a quiet scoff against the half-dark. “I’m scared of  _everything_. I’m scared about what happened tonight. I’m scared for Quinn. I’m scared about what’s going to happen when I move away next year, and the year after that, and the year after that. I’m scared of what I did…” He gulped, and it was almost like a sob, and the words just kept spilling out, messy and honest and everywhere. “I’m scared of who I am. And most of all, I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I’m with you.”  
  
His voice was low and desperate, and he could barely hear it over the pounding of his heart against his ribs. He kept his head bowed, feeling like he was waiting for a blow.  
  
There was a brilliant, terrible moment of silence.  
  
Then came the unexpected sound of Kurt sliding a record out of a paper sleeve and setting it up on the player, starting it with the volume low. There was percussion first, and piano, a steady, sensual beat. “Dance with me?” Kurt asked, his voice barely more than a whisper above the music.  
  
Blaine froze and glanced up. He sucked in a breath, the air rasping over his dry lips, and his tongue stuck to the skin as he tried to wet them. Kurt’s face was composed, but his eyes were burning as he nodded, just a little.  
  
So Blaine shuffled forward, his blood racing around his body in revolt, unsure how he was going to manage dancing when his feet felt, all at once, heavy as lead and like they were barely holding him against the floor. Kurt approached him too, and, as Blaine had seen him do before and dreamed about feverishly, he reached out to drop one arm low around Blaine’s waist, pulling him closer. Blaine stared at the peaks of Kurt’s collarbones, pushing up under the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and then Kurt started to sway.  
  
It didn’t feel as graceful to Blaine as it had looked when Kurt danced with one of the girls, but Blaine suspected that was his fault — he felt like he was all right angles and left feet. Still, he moved tentatively with Kurt, his hands sliding up to find anchor on Kurt’s arms. As though the touch encouraged him, Kurt began to swing more purposefully into the dance, shifting Blaine easily to the proper positions. Blaine could feel the strength all over Kurt’s body, and he was glad for the direction — he was reeling and he wasn’t sure that he could have made his limbs obey if he tried.  
  
While Solomon Burke sang about loneliness into the dark, Kurt leaned Blaine into a sort of dip, bending him a little at the waist and pulling him back in, and there, holding tight, they both froze. Blaine had closed his eyes, but he knew how close he was, the lingering smell of Kurt’s aftershave and sweat making him dizzy. He could feel his own breath ricocheting back from where it was dampening the skin of Kurt’s jaw, and before he could help himself, he swayed forward just a little — not to kiss, but just to let his parted lips bump and brush there lightly, over the skin of another man.  
  
Kurt shuddered, and then they weren’t dancing at all anymore. In a sudden flurry of motion, Kurt had pulled back far enough to get his hands on Blaine’s face, and with a harsh breath that was loud in Blaine’s ears, he dragged Blaine into a forceful, hungry kiss.  
  
Blaine gasped sharply through his nose, but he didn’t waste any time in tilting his head just a fraction more to the side and kissing back. Hard. Because  _this_  — this was what had been flitting in the edges of his mind, haunting his subconscious, making itself known in his dreams. His hands, which had been dislodged from Kurt’s arms in the commotion, found the sides of Kurt’s shirt and fisted tightly, pulling the lightweight material tight across the small of his back. Kurt left Blaine’s face and tugged him in, gripping his shoulders, his neck, the back of his hair.  
  
Then Kurt was using his lips and tongue to open Blaine’s mouth, and Blaine had a flash of panic, his thoughts momentarily overriding the sensory overload from his body. He barely knew what he was doing, and there was no way he was going to be able to hide it if this went very much further. He didn’t even know if he wanted it to go very much further.  
  
Maybe he should have put a stop to it, but it was surprisingly simple to let the alarm fade away, to let instinct take him, to slide his tongue along Kurt’s inside his mouth, to press in a little closer and let Kurt’s solidity make him feel less shaky. One of Kurt’s hands dropped to Blaine’s back, steadying him, and then Kurt was walking him backwards until Blaine collided unceremoniously with the wall of the studio. He lost his hold on Kurt’s shirt at the impact and reached up to wrap his arms around Kurt’s neck instead. Kurt pressed in close, and then every nerve ending and blood cell in Blaine’s body went into a state of high alert as he felt the solid line of Kurt’s erection snug along his hipbone. There was no way that Kurt couldn’t feel him too.  
  
Blaine huffed out a surprised whining noise, which was muffled in Kurt’s mouth and reflected back to him when Kurt groaned. For the first time since they’d latched onto each other and for just a moment, they paused, their mouths open and sharing hot breaths. Blaine realized with sudden certainty that Kurt had been keeping their hips apart while they were dancing, but he supposed the time for that pretense had long passed.  
  
Then Kurt brought his mouth together around Blaine’s bottom lip and dropped one hand to his hip, bringing their bodies into better alignment before he pulled just back enough to roll forward again into Blaine’s body, and the feeling of it jolted through Blaine like lightning.  
  
Kurt did it again, and Blaine moved too, experimentally and a little out of sync.  _Oh_ , he thought. That made it even better. So he didn’t stop, and Kurt didn’t stop, and the crash of their mouths grew wetter and sloppier, their hands and breaths even more frantic.  
  
Blaine pulled back suddenly, tilting his head away and gasping in the night air, unable to focus enough to bring his lips together to kiss. Without pausing, Kurt dropped his mouth to Blaine’s jaw, sucking kisses there and scraping a little with his teeth as he continued to roll his hips. Blaine clutched at Kurt’s shoulders, his eyes screwed tightly shut. It was like running, in a way, the rhythm, his heart and lungs working hard. There was something building like storm clouds at the edges of his vision — something just out of reach, and Blaine wasn’t sure if he was chasing it or it was chasing him. The sensation was familiar and frightening all at once, and Blaine knew that he wanted it more than anything else in the entire world. Whining, he grabbed Kurt’s hips and pulled him in  _hard_ , and it broke over him like a wave as a strangled cry escaped his throat.  
  
Then it was all he could do to hang on, shuddering, as Kurt rocked into him a few more times, before tensing with a muffled cry and finally going still.  
  
When Blaine’s thoughts caught up with him, they were mostly stunned, horrified white noise. A quick inventory revealed that he had moved his hands — one was wrapped around the back of Kurt’s neck, where the roots of his hair were now damp with sweat, and the other had returned to grasp at his shoulders. They were still pressed closely together from their chests downward, and their feet were tangled. Kurt’s arms were wrapped around his waist, and Kurt’s weight was pinning him to the wall. He felt like he should do something, say  _anything_ , but instead he just stared wide-eyed into the murky darkness past Kurt’s shoulder.  
  
Kurt moved first, taking a deep breath and pulling himself to stand up a bit straighter. His hands slipped slowly away from Blaine’s body, and Blaine removed his too, not without a feeling of reluctance. Kurt kept his eyes downcast at first, but then he visibly steeled himself and lifted them to meet Blaine’s. If Blaine were to guess, he felt certain that they mirrored his own quite well — wide, shocked, confused, searching. “Um, there’s a bathroom downstairs,” Kurt said, and his voice was rough. Even in the dark, Blaine could see that his face was aflame.  
  
“What?” Blaine rasped out.  
  
“A bathroom. Downstairs. You need to — clean up?”  
  
“Oh.” All at once, Blaine became acutely aware of the uncomfortable mess he’d been left with. “Yeah, yes. Thanks.”  
  
Kurt nodded, sucking on his lower lip a little, and then he turned to lead Blaine down the stairs. He paused outside of a doorway and motioned to it awkwardly before crossing his arms over his stomach. “Here it is.”  
  
“Thanks,” Blaine repeated, shuffling past. He turned on the light as he closed the door, squinting at the sudden brightness. When his vision cleared, he caught sight of himself in the cracked mirror, and for a moment, his hygiene was forgotten. He rested one hand on each side of the cool porcelain sink and stared.  
  
His hair was ruffled up, especially in the back, and his face was bright with color. Where Kurt had been worrying his jawline with lips and teeth, the skin was fading red. His lips were swollen, his chin was pink, and even his eyes looked different somehow. It didn’t even feel like he was looking at himself.  
  
 _You’re not_ , he thought.  _It’s different now_.  
  
Giving himself a shake, Blaine made quick work of cleaning up as best he could. He splashed his face with water and used a little more to try to smooth his hair back into place. It wouldn’t make much difference for long, but he only needed to make it back to his cabin, and with any luck, he wouldn’t pass anyone on the way. He turned and reached for the doorknob, pausing just before he turned it. What if Kurt had left? The image of trudging back to his cabin disheveled and alone sprang unbidden into his mind.  
  
 _So what if he did_? Blaine asked himself.  _You can’t stay here_. He pulled the door open.  
  
Kurt was leaning against the wall opposite. He swung his eyes up, narrowing them as the wedge of light that escaped through the door lit up his face. Blaine felt an unaccountable surge of relief. “It’s all yours,” he mumbled, trading places with Kurt. He shut the bathroom door, leaving Blaine alone in the dark.  
  
He tried to think things through, but it was impossible. There was no way to categorize or quantify or even define what he’d just done. For the briefest of moments, Blaine considered leaving, running away out of fear, but Kurt had waited for him, so he stayed put, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall.  
  
Kurt emerged a few minutes later, turning off the light and casting them both into darkness. Blaine blinked as his eyes adjusted, waiting to locate Kurt in the shadow. He still didn’t know what to say, and he hoped that Kurt had some idea.  
  
Kurt said, “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”  
  
Outside, the air was clear and fresh and moved faintly by the breeze. Kurt and Blaine walked side by side in silence, not touching, but close enough that their arms swung against each other after every few steps. Against all odds, Blaine suddenly felt a little calmer. There was nothing to hear but the faint sounds of their footsteps and the rustling in the trees, the air was cool on his face, and Kurt was walking him home. He wished the path was longer, because he knew that as soon as he was alone with his thoughts, any inner quietude would be gone.  
  
Kurt paused at the place where the little path that led directly to the Berrys’ cabin broke off from the main loop. “I should probably stop here,” he said quietly.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Blaine replied, also keeping his voice low. They’d shuffled around so that they angled in toward each other, and Blaine didn’t know what to do with his hands. He didn’t know what to do at all. If Kurt were a girl, or if  _he_ were a girl, would they kiss? Did it matter? They were still standing in a place where anyone could see them, even if seemed like no one was around.  
  
But then Kurt glanced up and, as he’d always been able to do, pinned Blaine in place with a look. His lips turned up in a small smile that looked almost — normal? Bashful? “Good night, Blaine,” was all he said, his voice soft.  
  
“Good night,” Blaine whispered, staring back for as long as he could until Kurt nodded and turned away.  
  
It took him a long time to fall asleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Additional Chapter Note:** (story originally posted spring 2012; links may no longer be active)
> 
>   * The hand jive is a dance that was popular in the 1950s that involves hand movements and clapping. There's a video of video of Johnny Otis performing "Willie and the Hand Jive" here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TEeeGMpM_Nk. It doesn't really illustrate the hitchhiking movement well, but I love it because it's of the time period. Also, I'm amused by this WikiHow about how to hand jive: http://www.wikihow.com/Do-the-Hand-Jive.
> 



	7. Chapter 7

Blaine didn’t think about it when he first awoke the next morning — at least, not for the first handful of seconds. When he did remember, it was gradual, like easing into a chilly swimming pool, and then all at once, like giving up and diving right in. He lay perfectly still in his bed, taking inventory of his body, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that it was the same one that had done all those things. He would have never thought himself to be so wanton. Had those really been his hands touching Kurt so frantically? His mouth making those noises?  
  
Recalling the events of the previous night in such detail was also serving to rouse up interest between his legs, so Blaine reluctantly dragged himself out from under the cocoon of his bedclothes, which was already far too warm in the mounting heat of the morning. Luckily, he didn’t cross paths with any of his family members as he scurried to the bathroom, and when he reached it, he locked himself in. He fumbled for the toothpaste, keeping his head down to avoid looking at himself in the mirror until it wasn’t possible anymore. For the split second before he did, Blaine wasn’t sure if he wanted his reflection to look the same as it always did or different. Other than the fact that his hair was mussed from sleep, this time, it was the same. Blaine brushed his teeth and stepped into the shower, setting the water to an uncomfortably cool temperature.  
  
After Blaine finished his morning toilette, he ventured into the cabin’s main room and found it occupied only by Rachel, who was sitting on a chair with a magazine that she wasn’t quite looking at. He flinched back half a step when she focused on him, sure that — despite what he’d seen in the mirror — what he’d done the night before was written all over him. Rachel just gave him a tiny smile and said, “Good morning.”  
  
“Morning,” Blaine answered, and he found that he needed to clear his throat a little before he continued. “Where are Hiram and Shelby?”  
  
“They’re sitting out on the porch,” she answered. Blaine blanched. Things must be bad if they weren’t all waiting in the same room together. “We can all go to breakfast now that you’re ready.”  
  
She stood and moved to put the magazine aside. Blaine darted forward a few steps and stopped her before she turned to the door. “Rach,” he said, dropping his voice. “I’ve been thinking about Quinn. If I can get away this afternoon, I want to go visit her and make sure she’s doing all right. Do you want to come with me?”  
  
“You mean… you’re not going to listen to what Daddy said?” she said, her eyebrows arching.  
  
Blaine squirmed a little. “I just want to know that she’s okay.”  
  
Rachel regarded him for a long moment, her mouth tightening a little. “Did you know what the money was for?” she whispered.  
  
Her words brought on a rush of shame that made Blaine color and avert his eyes. “I didn’t know it was going to be like that. I thought she was going to see a real doctor.”  
  
“I see,” Rachel said, but she sounded uncertain.  
  
Blaine looked back at her. “I swear it, Rachel. We all thought he was going to be a real doctor. I wanted her to be safe, and I was just afraid that if she didn’t get to see him, that she’d find someone like — like he ended up being anyway.”  
  
Rachel’s face was still pinched, but her eyes were wide and earnest now. “I believe you,” she said.  
  
“Thank you,” Blaine breathed, the gratitude clear in his voice.  
  
“None of you knew?” she asked.  
  
“None of us. I swear.”  
  
She squeezed his arm briefly and attempted a smile, even though it came out looking more like a grimace. “Let’s get going, okay? We’re already going to be late for the breakfast service. It’s not like you to sleep in like that.”  
  
As soon as she’d spoken the words, Blaine felt his unease come racing back. “Well… it was an eventful night.”  
  
“It was,” Rachel agreed, turning away. “Have you seen my handbag?”

Breakfast was even worse than Blaine had anticipated. Hiram, usually so warm and cheerful with his family, was subdued, and any words he exchanged with either Blaine or Rachel were stilted. It didn’t appear that he’d told Shelby anything about what had happened, which was unusual. She asked each of them if something was wrong, and only received lies in response that ranged from a poor night’s sleep to a sudden flare of hay fever.  
  
They had fallen into an uncomfortable silence when Hiram spoke up. “So, I was thinking that maybe we should consider leaving after the weekend is over,” he announced.  
  
Shelby frowned at him. “ _This_ weekend? Why would you suggest that? We’re paid up for almost two more weeks.”  
  
Rachel looked even more pained. “But, Daddy — there’s going to be a talent show. I wanted to sing it. I’ve already been working on songs.”  
  
For his part, Blaine couldn’t say a word. The idea had never occurred to him that he might not have the next thirteen days to try to figure out exactly what was happening with Kurt and why, and it stunned him into silence. It was already Friday. If they left in three days, that didn’t give him enough time for  _anything_. Maybe he’d get to see Kurt once or twice —  _if Kurt even wanted to see him again_ , a mutinous little voice in his head pointed out — or maybe he wouldn’t get to see him at all. An empty, hollowed out feeling grew in his stomach, and he returned the slice of toast he’d been holding to his plate, forcing himself to chew and swallow the bite he’d already taken, which suddenly tasted like greasy cardboard in his mouth.  
  
“I know that Blaine and Rachel both have a lot of work to do to get ready for college in the fall,” Hiram was saying. “I thought maybe the extra two weeks would make things easier. I’m sure that Max would be willing to give us a refund.”  
  
“But… the  _show_ ,” Rachel insisted. Blaine saw that she was twisting her napkin in her lap.  
  
“Hiram, we’re all having such a lovely time,” Shelby said, sounding confused. “Do you really want us to go?”  
  
Looking around at the stricken faces of his family, Hiram gave a strained-looking smile and relented. “All right, all right. It was just an idea. We’ll stay if you all really want to.” As sighs of relief echoed around the table, Hiram cleared his throat and addressed Rachel. “What do you want to sing in the show, sweetheart?”  
  
“Well,” Rachel began, sitting up straight in her chair, “I was thinking maybe ‘I Feel Pretty.’ Or ‘What Would the Simple Folk Do?’ Or ‘I Feel Pretty.’ What do you think, Daddy?”  
  
Hiram’s expression was melting a little as he watched his daughter’s enthusiasm. “I think they both sound wonderful. I can’t wait to hear whichever one you pick.”  
  
Blaine let out a long, slow breath. There was still time.

\-  / / -

It was much easier to get away and visit Quinn than Blaine had anticipated. He’d expected Hiram to be watching them like a hawk, which he was, but he and Shelby had already planned a game of tennis with another couple for early that afternoon. After they left, Blaine and Rachel waited for a full ten minutes before making their way quickly and cautiously to Quinn’s cabin. They found her freshly dressed and lying on her bed, which had been remade with clean linens. She greeted them with enthusiasm, although she didn’t make any move to rise.  
  
“Quinn, you look  _so_ much better,” Rachel said, clasping her hands together and smiling.  
  
She really did, Blaine noted with relief. Although she was lacking her usual rosy glow, her pallor was much less frightening than it had been when they’d last seen her, and her eyes were bright and alert. “Thanks to your father,” Quinn replied. “He was here this morning, you know. He’s a wonderful man. Thank you for bringing him here, Blaine.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” he said. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“I’m okay,” Quinn said with a watery smile. “I’m going to be okay.”  
  
Blaine felt his own eyes sting a little. “Quinn, I’m so sorry. I had no idea —”  
  
“Stop,” she interjected. “Of course you didn’t. There’s no way you could have. I —”  
  
She was interrupted by a loud rap at the door, which swung open to admit a grinning Finn Hudson before Quinn could even respond. Blaine noticed that the smile on his face dimmed somewhat when he noticed Blaine and Rachel. He gave them both a tiny nod, his eyes lingering for a moment on Rachel, who was suddenly fidgeting.  
  
“Hey!” Quinn greeted him warmly. “How did your lessons go?”  
  
“Oh, uh, great,” Finn said, turning back to her. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t be here all morning.”  
  
“That’s okay,” Quinn said. “Max would have gotten suspicious if you would have canceled them all. But you missed Dr. Berry — he was here not long after you left.”  
  
“What did he say?” Finn was focusing his attention solely on Quinn, and out of the corner of his eye, Blaine saw Rachel frown.  
  
Quinn struggled to sit up a little. “He says I’m going to be fine.” Her eyes grew brighter as she added, “And that I can still have children someday.”  
  
“That’s great news, just great,” Finn said earnestly. He moved to help her prop an extra pillow behind her head and then backed away to sit in a chair at the side of the room.  
  
“So,” Quinn said, her eyes roaming over each of them, “how did it go last night?”  
  
“Really good,” Finn said quickly.  
  
“Yeah,” Rachel spoke up, “I didn’t do the lift. But it was good.” Finn had tilted his head a little as she spoke, and their eyes caught and held until Rachel flushed pink and turned away. Blaine narrowed his eyes and tried to catch hers, but she refused to look at him.  
  
Quinn’s face had taken on a similar suspicious cast. “That’s… good,” she said, repeating the word slowly, her gaze traveling from Finn to Rachel and back again. It was obvious that she wanted to say more.  
  
Blaine decided to oblige her, since he had a growing urge to ask Rachel a thing or two as well. “I think maybe we should get going,” he said, his voice full of forced cheer. “We don’t want our family to be suspicious. Quinn, I’m really glad that you’re feeling better. Hopefully we can stop in again soon.”  
  
“Thank you,” Quinn said, taking a moment to flash him a quick smile in between shooting looks at Finn out of the corner of her eye.  
  
“We’ll see you soon,” he said, hooking a hand around Rachel’s elbow to start tugging her out of the room.  
  
“Good bye, Quinn,” she said, before adding a softer, more lingering, “Finn.”  
  
Blaine meant to ask Rachel just what was going on as soon as they were a safe distance away from the cabin, but his plans were derailed when they ran almost headlong into Kurt on the porch step. He locked eyes with Blaine, who suddenly felt everything inside of him — not just his heart or his stomach or his lungs,  _everything_  — jump and twist. “Hi,” he breathed, the word chased out on a nervous puff of air.  
  
Kurt opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off when Rachel darted out her hands, curling one around each of their arms in a tight grip. “Sssh!” she commanded.  
  
“Rachel —” Blaine started, looking at her in surprise.  
  
“Hush!” she snapped, staring straight ahead rather than paying either of them any attention. She kept her hands where they were, locking them in place.  
  
Blaine exchanged a look with Kurt, which did absolutely nothing to stop the way his stomach was churning. Gradually, he became aware of Quinn’s voice spilling out of the open window behind them.  
  
“Listen to me,” she was saying. “You know we’re not supposed to get mixed up with them. You’ve got to put a stop to it.”  
  
“It’s not like that —”  
  
“Finn,” she cut him off, her voice flat. “I can see it from my here, all right? And I’ve taken a lot of pain pills in the last twelve hours. You’re not fooling me.”  
  
There was a shuffling sound, like maybe Finn was moving around the room, and then he sighed. “I know what I’m doing, Quinn.”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
After a pause, Finn muttered, so quietly that it was hard to hear, “I don’t know.” Rachel’s fingers tightened around Blaine’s arm, pressing down into the bone almost uncomfortably. Kurt had looked away from Blaine and was staring at the railing like there was something fascinating there.  
  
“Max is just looking for a reason to can us, Finn. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t find out about all the commotion last night. Don’t add more fuel to the fire.”  
  
It seemed like an eternity before Finn answered. “Maybe you’re right.”  
  
At that, Rachel gave a violent sniff. She released Blaine and Kurt’s arms so that she could wrap her own tightly around herself as she stomped down the rest of the stairs. Blaine called after her, tripping down another step, and she whirled around. Her face was blotchy and her eyes were wet. “No, Blaine. Just — I need some time alone, okay?”  
  
Blaine frowned, letting the hand that had already started reaching for her drop back to his side, and watched as Rachel hurried away, her head bowed and her shoulders hunched in, making her appear even smaller than she already was.  
  
“Aren’t you going to go after her?” Kurt asked, making Blaine jump.  
  
“No,” Blaine said, “not right now. She really means it; believe me, I know how to tell. I’ll find her in a little while.”  
  
They lapsed into silence, not really looking at each other. It was an uncomfortable one, or at least Blaine thought so, his heart pounding away in his chest as he tried anxiously to find something to say — or at least something that wasn’t a desperate line of questioning, starting with  _what did it mean_ and  _are we even going to acknowledge that it happened?_  
  
He felt desperate for knowledge, and before he could think better of it, he swallowed hard and asked, “Do you agree with her?”  
  
When he managed to look up at Kurt, he saw that Kurt was furrowing his brow in confusion. “With who?” he asked.  
  
“Quinn,” Blaine said, his voice only a step or two above a whisper. “Do you think that it’s a bad thing for the staff to, uh… get involved with the guests?”  
  
“Oh.” It seemed to have brought Kurt up short. He shifted from one foot to the other, considering, and Blaine was fairly sure that he didn’t breathe in the space that stretched out between that syllable and the next. “I think… that it probably has the potential to be a really bad idea.” Blaine’s heart sank, but Kurt wasn’t done speaking yet. “But I also think that it’s better to judge every situation separately. So… I guess I think it could be a good thing, if the circumstances were right.” He met Blaine’s eyes then, and they seemed to be trying to communicate more than his words were.  
  
“Ah. Well, that’s… good,” Blaine said stupidly. “I mean, it’s a good way to look at things. I agree. That it could be a good thing too.” The corner of Kurt’s mouth turned up a little, and Blaine felt himself give a tentative little smile in return, letting out a trembling breath that took half of the tension in his body with it. Behind them, he could hear that Finn and Quinn had moved on to discussing other matters.  
  
“So, did you know that you can borrow canoes to take out on the lake?” Kurt asked.  
  
Blaine shook his head a little at the sudden change of topic. “What?”  
  
“Canoes. They keep them in the boathouse, down near the lake. Have you seen it?”  
  
“Uh, I think I know where it is, yeah.” Blaine squinted at Kurt and scratched the back of his neck. Was Kurt asking him to go canoeing?  
  
But then Kurt dropped his voice, even as he kept his face neutral. “Can you meet me there? Later?”  
  
The words kick-started Blaine’s heart rate again. “Yes. I mean… it would have to be much later. Rachel and I are in hot water with her father. We need to try to smooth things over, so I can’t disappear again. But I could sneak out later. After they’re in bed.”  
  
Kurt nodded. “What time? Late doesn’t bother me.”  
  
“I think we’ll probably stay in tonight to spend time together as a family, so they’ll go to bed early. Ten thirty?”  
  
“Ten thirty it is. I’ll leave the door cracked — just come right in.”  
  
“Okay,” Blaine murmured. They were staring at each other in a way that was surely suspicious now, and Kurt broke the connection to look around. There wasn’t anyone nearby but there were other members of the staff gathered on the porch of the next building, and others walking along the path that ran in front of them.  
  
Kurt cleared his throat. “I’m going to go in and visit Quinn. So, I guess I’ll see you later.”  
  
“See you later,” Blaine echoed as they scooted around each other at the bottom of the stairs. He caught a whiff of Kurt’s clean scent and felt the brush of the back of Kurt’s hand along his wrist, but he had no idea if the touch was intentional or not. He wanted to look back, to watch Kurt until he disappeared or see if he was looking too, but he knew instinctively that it wouldn’t be wise. Instead, he kept his face forward and his pace steady, even though he felt like he could run all the way back to the cabin and still have energy left to burn.

\- / / -

When Blaine made his way to the boathouse that night, it was with a stomach full of butterflies. Even though he’d quickly and readily agreed to the proposition of meeting Kurt again — and couldn’t imagine having said no — he didn’t know what to expect, and it put him on edge. He’d been thinking of little else all day, and he was fairly sure that he’d considered every possible thing there was to worry about.  
  
He imagined that Kurt would change his mind, shying away from what he’d seemed to hint at earlier in the day, and use the opportunity to reject Blaine’s affections in no uncertain terms. He was afraid that Kurt might only want to see him again because Blaine was willing to… do  _that_ … with other men. Blaine didn’t know what he would do if that turned out to be the case. He wasn’t sure if he’d be willing to do  _only_ that with Kurt, but he was afraid he might agree to it if it was all that he could have.  
  
Worst of all were the times when he imagined showing up to the boathouse and Kurt wasn’t there at all, and Blaine had to live out the rest of his days never knowing if it had meant anything to Kurt at all. He spent a lot of time pushing those thoughts away, but they clung like spiderwebs.  
  
However, when Blaine did get to the boathouse — which was a lofty name for what was really a large, glorified shed — the door stood a few inches ajar, just as Kurt had promised. Blaine slipped inside and pulled it closed. The space inside was shadowy and dim, but the large door that faced the lake was half open, and light from the single bulb mounted to the outside of the building spilled in. Blaine could see the appeal of using it for a clandestine meeting — the edge of the lake lay only a few feet beyond the door, so the chances of anyone passing by were slim.  
  
Blaine blinked, taking in the bulky shapes of the handful of canoes on racks along one side of the shed as they came into focus. There were shelves built into the opposite wall as well, which were filled with things that Blaine couldn’t make out in the dark. They were also right beside the long, narrow wooden bench where Kurt was sitting. “Hi,” he whispered when he saw that Blaine had found him.  
  
“Hi,” Blaine whispered back.  
  
“Have a seat,” Kurt said, indicating the stretch of bench beside him.  
  
Blaine nodded, making his way over slowly. How close was he supposed to sit? He didn’t feel like it would be appropriate to curl into Kurt’s side, no matter what had happened the night before, so he made sure to keep a distinct few inches of space between them as he sank down.  
  
“I’m glad you agreed to meet me,” Kurt said. He was looking down at his hands in his lap, so Blaine did the same.  
  
“I’m glad you asked me to.” Blaine couldn’t deny the truth of the statement, regardless of his nerves. His tongue felt heavy and awkward in his mouth, weighed down by the fact that there was  _so much_ to say.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Kurt asked, his voice barely audible.  
  
Blaine gave a minute nod. “I just — I was wondering — when did you know?” he asked falteringly.  
  
“About you or about me?”  
  
The question came as a surprise. “Well, I was asking about you,” Blaine said, “but now that you mention it, about me too.”  
  
Kurt puffed out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “You? Last night.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“I — if I’m being completely honest, I wondered, but I didn’t think that I’d be that —” Kurt cut himself off abruptly. “I mean, I wasn’t sure until… last night.”  
  
“Oh.” There were so many things he wanted to ask — like  _when did you wonder_ and  _why_ and  _would you have let the summer end without finding out for sure_  — but he wasn’t entirely certain that he wanted all the answers. “What about you?” he asked instead. “When did you know about you?”  
  
Kurt was quiet for so long that Blaine looked over to make sure that he wasn’t upset. He found Kurt still staring at his hands, his eyebrows drawn together in contemplation. “I think I’ve maybe always known,” he finally said. “But I only really figured it out what it meant when I got to high school.”  
  
“So what made you realize…” Blaine let his voice trail away, not even sure how to give words to the question.  
  
Kurt snorted quietly. “I had a crush on a boy.”  
  
Blaine couldn’t help the small surge of discomfort that he felt in reaction to the admission. “Did you ever… say anything about it? Do anything?”  
  
Kurt made the same noise, a little louder this time. “God, no.”  
  
“Did that make it hard?”  
  
“Did what make what hard?”  
  
“Being… who you are. Did it make it hard for you to fit in with everyone else?” Blaine asked. He sensed that Kurt was watching him then, but he kept his head down.  
  
“I did get teased a fair amount in school,” Kurt said. “There are things about me that are different. My voice. But a lot of that stopped once I joined the football team.”  
  
“You played  _football_?” Blaine interrupted, his head snapping up.  
  
Kurt actually smiled at that. “Didn’t you once tell me not to judge a book by its cover?”  
  
“Yes! Right after you accused me of liking football like it was something bad!”  
  
“I never said it was bad.”  
  
“You implied it.”  
  
“I did no such thing. I just thought you seemed like the kind of person who would like football. And I was right.”  
  
“While you neglected to mention that you  _also_ like football.”  
  
“Well, that’s not entirely true. I don’t like football, but I don’t dislike it either.” Kurt shrugged. “The fact of the matter is that I can place kick a ball sixty yards. Or I could, anyway. I’m not a bad punter, either, in a pinch. That was better than anyone else in school could do, and it helped. You’d be amazed how things change when you kick a game-winning field goal or two. I even got to go steady with a cheerleader after that.”  
  
“A girl?” Blaine asked, feeling ridiculous as soon as the words were out of his mouth.  
  
“Yes, a girl. Her name was Brittany, and she was very sweet. I don’t think I was really her type, though. She definitely wasn’t mine.”  
  
“But why…?”  
  
Kurt hunched in on himself a little, the levity disappearing from his expression. “It made it easier for a while. We were friends, sort of. We had fun together.”  
  
“I see,” Blaine said. He wondered if it would have made any difference if he’d gone on more than a handful of dates with the few girls that Rachel had set him up with over the years. Maybe Mary Alice — she’d been the nicest, and if they’d gone steady, Blaine would have been expected to escort her places, and he might not have skipped so many parties and dances and afternoons at the malt shop.  
  
“Blaine?” Kurt asked. “Was it… hard for you in high school?”  
  
“I’m certainly not sad to be done with it,” he replied, immediately hating the bitter tinge his voice took on.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kurt said quietly.  
  
Blaine regretted giving such a glib answer, and he felt like owed Kurt a little more explanation, especially since Kurt had been nothing but forthright. “High school wasn’t always the easiest for me,” he began. “I never felt like I really fit in, at least not a McKinley. You know that my parents died. That happened just before final exams during the first semester of my freshman year. I was at Dalton Academy, then, in Westerville. I didn’t take the tests, and I didn’t end up going back for the rest of the year. I started over again at McKinley the next fall. So when I got there, I was the transfer student, and I was older than everyone else in my class, and I was Rachel Berry’s cousin.”  
  
Kurt huffed out a little laugh. “And that was a strike against you?”  
  
“With most people, it wasn’t a point in my favor. Plus, she didn’t know that I would end up transferring schools, so she’d already told a lot of people about me. She’d been talking about me for years.”  
  
“About…?” Kurt didn’t finish the question, but his tone was significant enough that Blaine could deduce his meaning.  
  
“No! No, she doesn’t know about that. I didn’t even really know about that yet. No… I…” Blaine gulped. He’d already come this far. How much worse could it possibly be if Kurt knew the whole truth? “I was born in the Philippines. That’s where my mother was from. I’m — only half white,” he finished, rushing the words out quickly. They weren’t ones that he was used to saying, and they felt stark and unpleasant in his mouth.  
  
“Rachel was telling people  _that_?” Kurt’s voice took on an incredulous, almost angry tone.  
  
“Oh, no! I mean, yes, but not to be malicious,” Blaine said quickly. He looked across at Kurt, whose face was hardening. “Rachel’s always been really fascinated by what my dad and her dad did in the war. She’s so proud of them that she’s almost in awe of it. So she’d been telling people all of their stories for as long as she knew them. She had no way of knowing it would ever come back to haunt me. It doesn't bother her at all that I’m not — from here.”  
  
When Blaine hazarded another glance up at Kurt, he was relieved to find that his expression was more relaxed, and that he couldn’t see any judgment in it, just a growing curiosity. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.  
  
“There’s not much to talk about, really. My dad was in the Philippines during the war. They met and got married and had me, but the GIs who got married overseas weren’t allowed to bring their wives back to the United States until after the war ended. I was here by the time I was three and a half.”

“Do you remember anything about it? Living there, I mean?”  
  
Blaine couldn’t keep the amazement out of his expression. Would Kurt never stop surprising him? He never reacted to the less conventional details of Blaine’s life the way he expected. “Only vaguely. Snippets. And when we got here, all my mom wanted was for us to be Americans, so she never talked very much about it. She never even made any of the food. She would only buy Wonder Bread, for crying out loud. I feel like… like there’s this big part of me missing, and I can’t even ask her about it anymore.” With a start, he realized that he’d been rambling again, or, to be more accurate this time, venting. “Sorry.”  
  
“Blaine,  _don’t apologize_ ,” Kurt said sternly, shifting minutely closer on the bench. “There’s got to be a way you can find out more, if you want to. Maybe books you can read?”  
  
“Someday,” Blaine said quietly. “I haven’t been ready yet, but I hope that I will be someday.”  
  
The warm touch of Kurt’s hand on his shoulder made him startle, but Kurt only squeezed a little in response. Then, to Blaine’s surprise, Kurt ran his hand down Blaine’s arm to find his hand, which he held in a grip that was light but firm. “I hope you will, too,” he said. “And I’m sorry that people made you feel bad about yourself just because you were a little different.”  
  
Blaine could barely answer, suddenly choked up on emotions and something else — a warm feeling that had started curling out from his stomach the moment that Kurt had taken his hand and was cut through with a  _zing_ of electricity every time Kurt’s thumb stroked along his skin. “I’d say I’m a lot different. But thank you,” he managed to get out.  
  
“Well,” Kurt responded, his voice taking on a playful lilt, “different can be good. Think how boring the world would be if everyone listened to Jan and Dean and no one listened to Etta James.”  
  
Despite his nerve endings all firing out of sync and the rapid left turn that his emotions were trying to take, Blaine chuckled. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t like ‘Surf City’?”  
  
“I can assure you that I really don’t care if there are  _two girls for every boy_ ,” Kurt said loftily. Blaine gaped at him before barking out a startled laugh, and Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand. They were much closer together than Blaine remembered them being when he sat down. “Besides, it’s no ‘Surfin’ USA.’ But then again, what is?”  
  
Blaine couldn’t help breaking into a full-fledged grin, nearly bursting from gratitude at feeling so unburdened. He had no idea how Kurt had done it, and so quickly — it was more than just a few jokes. His heart felt lighter, and although it was already racing at the proximity of Kurt’s answering smile, it somehow found a way to accelerate when Kurt closed the last bit of distance between them, pressing their legs together from hip to knee, and kissed him.  
  
Kurt’s lips on his were gentle and slow and deliberate, in direct opposition to the kisses they’d shared the previous night, and it all seemed to mean something different. He took his time, sucking lightly on Blaine’s top lip, then the bottom one, not moving to touch him anywhere other than the places where they were already connected. Blaine squeezed tight where their hands were still tangled and resting in the crease where their thighs were squeezed together. He found himself leaning forward to chase the feeling when Kurt pulled back and their mouths separated with a soft noise. Kurt’s breath was shaky as he pushed his forehead up against Blaine’s. “Different can be good,” he repeated, whispering this time.  
  
“Very good,” Blaine mumbled.  
  
Kurt lifted his free hand to Blaine’s cheek and brought their lips together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Notes:** (story originally posted spring 2012; links may no longer be active)
> 
>   * The War Brides Act of December 28, 1945 lifted immigration restrictions to allow US soldiers to bring their alien wives and children into the United States. You can read more about it here: http://immigration-online.org/312-war-brides-act-act-of-december-28-1945-1945.html. According to this website, approximately 5,000 Filipina women entered the United States as war brides after World War 2.
>   * Jan and Dean were a duo that, along with the Beach Boys, pioneered the "surf rock" genre. Their song "Surf City" was released in June 1963, and it spent two weeks at the top of the charts in July. You can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSS5xujeRaY&feature=fvst. The first line of the song is, "Two girls for every boy."
>   * I'm assuming that you know who Etta James is. She is best known for her song "At Last," which was originally released in 1961. You can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsSS9VcMidA.
>   * I'm also going to assume that I don't need to give any information about the Beach Boys. They released "Surfin' USA" in March 1963. You can listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqxTUxzOceE. (As a bonus, this link features surfing bulldogs!)
> 



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: I'm aware that Berry isn't a Jewish surname. For that matter, neither is Corcoran, but I've decided to use canon names. For the purposes of this fic, Rachel's family is Jewish, including Shelby.

After Blaine woke up the next morning, he spent a long time staring at the ceiling with his head pillowed on his arms. He thought that maybe he understood now.  
  
He and Kurt had kissed for what felt like hours the night before. They’d kissed, long and unhurried, until Blaine felt like his lips were buzzing, like they were swollen and slippery, and when he ran his tongue over them, they didn’t taste completely like his own. There’d been time to feel instead of grab, and Blaine had allowed himself to touch Kurt’s neck and jawline, his shoulders and back and the sides of his ribcage. He liked the way Kurt’s hands felt on him too — soft on his face, big when they splayed in the space between his shoulder blades, strong when they held on tight.  
  
They’d kissed for so long that Blaine realized that couldn’t ignore the sharp kink in his neck or the uncomfortable way the narrow bench was cutting into the backs of his thighs for even another second longer, and then he’d almost ruined everything when he’d drawn away and said, “I can’t do this anymore.” When Kurt’s stricken face had come into focus, he’d tripped over every word spilling out of his mouth, unable to make himself clear fast enough.  
  
With a roll of his eyes, Kurt had produced a blanket from — somewhere — and pushed Blaine down onto it with a laugh. Which was all well and very, very good until Kurt  _climbed on top of him_. Blaine had been doing his best to ignore his arousal, but it was impossible with Kurt’s solid weight above him, holding him fast against the cool floorboards under the blanket. He was aching within minutes, and before long, they were doing on the ground what they’d done against the wall in the dance studio. Kurt had hooked a hand under Blaine’s knee to angle his leg up, then he rocked down hard — and it was all over very quickly after that.  
  
Afterward, things were different. Kurt had rolled off of him but not away, dislodging Blaine’s hand from the back of his neck, where he’d apparently jammed half of it down under the collar of Kurt’s t-shirt. Staying close at Blaine’s side, Kurt had stretched out on his back, and even found Blaine’s fingers to interlace a few with his own. For several moments, neither spoke, and Blaine slowly came back to himself, listening to the soft sounds of the lake outside while their breathing slowed and quieted.  
  
He realized once again that he felt horribly sticky and unpleasant — it had never occurred to him how much of a  _mess_ this sort of thing would be, and he probably should have taken it into consideration about ten minutes earlier. In retrospect, the night before, he’d been grateful for the dark wash of his jeans and the proximity of the bathroom downstairs, not to mention the fact that he’d been too overwhelmed to give his discomfort the attention it might have otherwise received. Now, he was only too aware that he was lying on the floor of what was essentially a shed, and he was going to have to get back to his cabin one way or another.  
  
Then, at the edge of his vision, Blaine saw Kurt flop his head to the side to face him. Blaine did the same and everything dissipated a little as he looked shyly into Kurt’s eyes. “Hi,” Kurt whispered, for the second time that night.  
  
“Hi,” Blaine responded. And then, because he had to say something else, he blurted out what was quite literally the only other thought in his head: “That feels really good.”  
  
“ _You_  feel really good,” Kurt said quickly, and the flush, which had been fading from his skin, heightened a little. Blaine felt a grin spread across his face, and they stayed there for long seconds, staring. Blaine felt like his heart was warm deep inside of him, softly expanding like bread dough until it filled the entire cavity of his chest. Kurt squirmed and broke the mood first, clearing his throat. “But what I was  _going_ to say is that I think we can get away with sneaking into the main house through the south door at this time of night. There are bathrooms right inside. And it’ll just take a minute to get there.”  
  
Blaine sighed, torn between the urge to tease Kurt for his practicality and curse the fact that it was probably the best option. So he merely said, “Okay,” and Kurt leaned over to kiss his forehead with a  _smack_ before sitting up.  
  
As Kurt had suspected, the coast was clear. The entertainment for the evening — a comedy act in the auditorium — had let out long ago, and there didn’t appear to be anyone around. Which was probably lucky, Blaine thought, because he and Kurt would make awful secret agents. They stole embarrassed glances at each other and laughed, veering in toward one another before remembering that they needed to veer away. When they’d taken turns doing all they could to make themselves presentable, Kurt pulled Blaine into the bathroom and kissed him again, again, again, before they’d said good night and headed their separate ways — but not without plans to meet up again the following evening.  
  
So, Blaine thought that maybe he was finally starting to understand whatever it was that everyone he’d gone to school with had been figuring out one by one (or two by two) for years. He felt like he’d gained admittance to a secret club, or rather, like he’d sneaked in through the side door when no one was looking. It was all so new to him, raw and delicate, like shoots creeping out of the ground when the frost was gone. He wanted to laugh, his nerves kept him on the verge of biting his fingernails to the quick, and he  _longed_. He’d been longing to see Kurt again since the moment they’d said good-bye the night before.  
  
Although he could have stayed in bed for hours, Blaine was well aware that it would only make the day go by more slowly, when all he wanted was to blink his eyes and find that the clock was already reading seven-thirty in the evening, when he had agreed to meet Kurt again. Groaning, Blaine pulled himself up and, when he opened his door, he was surprised to find Rachel passing by. She looked haggard, her eyes were puffy and red and underscored with dark lines. Blaine cringed, suddenly remembering that just because he was on cloud nine, it didn’t mean that everyone else was sharing it with him. “Good morning,” he said.  
  
“…morning,” Rachel responded flatly, making it perfectly clear that she was leaving out the  _good_ on purpose.  
  
“Are you feeling any better?” Blaine asked cautiously. Rachel had resisted all of his attempts at conversation the day before. She’d disappeared for a short time just before dinner, and she was even more miserable when she returned, so Blaine strongly suspected that Finn hadn’t changed his mind after he’d left Quinn’s cabin.  
  
“What do you think?” Rachel muttered. She sounded stuffed up.  
  
“I — well, I thought —” Blaine stammered. “I was  _hoping_ that maybe a good night’s sleep would help. Maybe some breakfast?”  
  
“I’m not going to breakfast.”  
  
“Rachel.”  
  
“I’m not!” she insisted. “I already told Daddy I don’t feel well. It’s my hay fever.”  
  
Blaine looked at her, feeling helpless. “Isn’t there something I can do? Do you want to talk about it? Please?”  
  
Rachel shook her head. “I really don’t want to, and besides, there’s not much to say. Would it make you feel better if I promise to come join you for lunch?”  
  
“Yes,” Blaine said, and it did. Not much, but a little.  
  
“Then I promise to come join you for lunch. In the meantime, I’m going to lie back down.”  
  
“Okay.” He watched Rachel shuffle back to her bedroom and close the door, his brow furrowed with concern.

\- / / -

Rachel kept her word, emerging from her room to walk to the main house just before noon. She assured them all that she felt much better, but her wan expression and flat voice told a different story. Although Hiram and Shelby exchanged a look of concern, they allowed her lies to pass without further comment.  
  
They were almost done with their meal — which was eaten mainly in silence interspersed with bursts of stilted conversation — when Jacob Ben Israel bustled up to their table, holding a clipboard. “Hello, everyone,” he said, the very sound of his voice making Blaine cringe a little. “Are you all enjoying your lunch? Good, good. Rachel, I see that you signed up to sing in the talent show. I wanted to make sure that you can come to the auditorium tomorrow morning at ten o’clock sharp for the first rehearsal.”  
  
Rachel nodded unenthusiastically. “Of course, that sounds great. I’ll be there.”  
  
“Good! My uncle put me in charge of the show this year, and I can’t wait to get started.”  
  
“Wonderful,” Rachel said with a forced smile.  
  
Jacob made a note on his clipboard and then looked up at Blaine, pointing at him with his pencil. “You’ll be there, too, right Blaine? I’ll need you for props.”  
  
Blaine refrained from rolling his eyes, choosing instead to echo Rachel’s feigned politeness. “Sure. Sounds good.”  
  
“Great! See you both tomorrow!” With a last parting glance at Rachel, he was gone as quickly as he’d appeared.  
  
Rachel scowled at his back. “Blaine, I’ll talk to him,” she said, sounding more lively than she had all day. “If I ask him to let you sing, he’ll let you.”  
  
But Blaine shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Rach. I don’t really mind.” He didn’t — he would have enjoyed taking part in the show, but he was so preoccupied with Kurt that he could barely find it in himself to stay upset.  
  
“But Blaine, you’re an excellent vocalist, and he shouldn’t deny you the right to perform just because —”  
  
“Rachel!” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “It’s all right. Really. As long as you get to sing, I’m happy. There’s no need to go out of your way.”  
  
“Well… okay,” she said slowly. “If you’re sure.”  
  
“I’m sure.”  
  
They all turned back to their food, but had only taken another few bites when Rachel dropped her fork onto her plate and pushed her chair back with a loud scrape. “I’ll be right back,” she announced, and scurried away without waiting for a response. Blaine exchanged bewildered looks and shrugs with both Hiram and Shelby. He looked surreptitiously around the dining room, half expecting to see Finn somewhere, even though the staff never ate with the guests.  
  
What he actually noticed was much worse. Blaine caught sight of Rachel’s yellow sundress on the opposite side of the dining hall a minute or two later, and an unpleasant feeling set up residence in his stomach when he saw that she was talking to Noah. He recognized the change in her immediately — the way she was looking up coquettishly from under her eyelashes, wearing a smile that looked like it was reserved for him only. When she reached out to briefly touch his arm, Blaine narrowed his eyes. He wanted to launch himself out of his chair and across the room to physically make a barrier between them. Luckily, Rachel chose that moment to leave Noah with a little wave, but Blaine didn’t like the way that Noah’s eyes followed her as she made her way back to the table.  
  
There was nothing that he could say to her when she sat back down, not with her parents present, and Rachel steadfastly refused to meet his eye. Frustrated, he dropped his fork back to the table and covered what was left of his lunch with his napkin.  
  
“Done with lunch, Blaine?” Hiram asked, folding his own napkin aside. “Ready to head over to the putting green?” In a desperate attempt to fill his afternoon, Blaine had agreed when one of Hiram’s friends insisted over breakfast that they teach Blaine how to swing a golf club. He also hoped that it might serve as a sort of peace offering toward his uncle, who still wasn’t treating Blaine quite the same way that he had before Quinn’s emergency.  
  
Rachel didn’t look up as they moved to stand, concentrating instead on pushing her leftover vegetables around her plate. He’d have to figure out a way to talk to her later, although he wasn’t quite sure what he could say without betraying Quinn’s trust. There had to be something.  
  
“Sure,” he said, turning back to Hiram. “Let’s go.”

\- / / -

Rachel continued to evade Blaine for the remainder of the afternoon. After learning what had to be all the finer points of putting a golf ball, Blaine had returned to the cabin to find a note from Shelby:  _Rachel and I are rehearsing her songs, then headed to the pool. Come join us if you want!_  Blaine sighed. The pool, usually busy even on sunny days, wouldn’t be the ideal place to try to confront Rachel, and he knew that she would stubbornly refuse to leave and talk with him elsewhere. There were still a couple of hours left before dinner, so Blaine headed out to take a run, hoping to pass a bit more time. It was far from his best — he felt jagged and edgy, and he wasn’t able to find a good rhythm, his thoughts ping-ponging between Kurt and Rachel, bouncing from good to bad practically with each footstep.  
  
The afternoon finally finished its agonizing crawl after Blaine showered and changed and made another unsuccessful attempt to read the mystery novel he’d borrowed from the lodge. At dinner, Blaine watched Rachel closely, and he was disappointed to see her exchange several significant glances with Noah throughout the service, even though he wasn’t waiting on their table.  
  
After the meal, Hiram and Shelby left to have a drink in the hotel bar with a few of their newfound friends, which left Blaine and Rachel to walk back to their cabin alone. “Rachel, what are you doing?” he hissed as soon as they were out of earshot of anyone else.  
  
Rachel stuck her nose in the air. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Is something going on with you and Noah?” Blaine asked. “Because he… is not a very nice guy.”  
  
“You don’t know him,” Rachel said.  
  
“Neither do you!” Blaine retorted.  
  
“So that means that either one of us could be right,” Rachel pointed out, continuing to look straight ahead, walking with her spine straight and her head high.  
  
Blaine sighed, remembering Quinn’s earnest face and her plea to keep everything a secret from Rachel. “I don’t like him,” he finally said, and he knew that the words were weak and ineffectual.  
  
“Oh, Blaine, don’t be silly. You know that I think it’s sweet when you feel like you have to protect me, but I’m eighteen years old now. I can take care of myself. Give him a chance.”  
  
Blaine was left at a loss. There was no way he could tell the truth, but he would just make Rachel more upset if he continued to press the issue without any reason for making it a big deal. “Just be careful around him, okay?” he asked pleadingly.  
  
“I always am,” Rachel said, the return of her steely confidence far from reassuring.

\- / / -

A chilly silence had reigned between Blaine and Rachel when they made it back to the cabin. Perhaps for that reason, Rachel didn’t question Blaine when he made the excuse that he needed some fresh air. He ambled off, ignoring every urge to quicken his steps. Kurt had asked Blaine to meet him at a trailhead that Blaine wasn’t able to find on the hotel’s complimentary hiking maps. It wasn’t too far from the staff area, so Blaine headed in that direction, already trying to decide what alibi he could use to explain what had kept him away from the cabin for so long.  
  
As worried as Blaine was about Rachel, she was all but gone from his mind when he spotted Kurt leaning against a tree and waiting for him. Blaine was reminded suddenly of the day that he’d stood with Kurt to watch Rachel’s first rehearsal, when he hadn’t even been sure that Kurt would want to talk to him at all. It seemed now like it had happened a million years ago or to someone else entirely, especially when he saw the way Kurt’s face changed when he noticed him — Kurt’s eyes lit up as a secretive smile widened his mouth.  
  
“Hi,” Blaine greeted Kurt as soon as he was near enough. He stuck his hands in his pockets, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from reaching out and touching if he didn’t. Fighting back the urge, he said playfully, “I never pictured you as a hiker.”  
  
“Oh, I’m not,” Kurt assured him. “We’re not going  _that_ far. There’s a good spot to watch the sunset just up this way. Come on.”  
  
Blaine followed Kurt closely along a dirt path, which climbed into the forest for a little more than a quarter mile. They emerged from the woods into a small clearing, which contained, to Blaine’s surprise, a dilapidated gazebo and a weathered wooden bench. Beyond them, the landscape opened up to a wide view of the mountains, cut into swaths of light and shadow by the glow of the late-day sun and dipping down to the lake. “Wow,” Blaine said, stepping past Kurt to get closer to the edge of the overlook. “Why is this here?”  
  
“It’s part of the original resort,” Kurt answered. “Did you know that this used to be all there was? Just the staff area, I mean?”  
  
Blaine turned to find that Kurt was now sitting primly on the bench. “No,” he replied, turning and walking back to join him.  
  
“The hotel has been in business for over a hundred years,” Kurt explained. “But the main house and all the guest accommodations that are here now are much newer than that. It used to be just our part — some of the staff cabins were used for guests and they had meals in the bigger one.”  
  
“Really? Why wasn’t it closer down by the lake?” Blaine sat, scooting in beside Kurt on the bench and hoping that he had permission to do that now.  
  
“I think they used to keep animals — horses, maybe? Cattle? Anyway, they were pastured where all the main buildings are now. Or at least that’s what one of the guys told me once. I’m not sure if it’s true or not. Max obviously isn’t very interested in maintaining any of it.”  
  
Blaine looked over at the gazebo, noting that part of the roof had actually caved in. He thought about the torn screens and crooked doors he’d seen at the other rundown staff buildings and said, “Obviously not.”  
  
“We still come up here sometimes. It’s a good place to get a little privacy,” Kurt finished.  
  
“Oh,” Blaine said. “So, what if someone else shows up?” He shifted back a little bit on the bench, putting an inch or two of space between them.  
  
“Finn and I let it slip that one of us would probably be up here tonight —”   
  
“Wait,” Blaine cut him off, an icy lick of fear zooming up his spine. “ _Finn_ knows we’re up here?”   
  
Kurt shook his head. “Finn knows that  _I’m_  up here. That’s it. So hopefully everyone else will steer clear. We all try to look out for each other. But still, we shouldn’t — um, get carried away.”  
  
Blaine couldn’t deny that he felt a tiny twinge of disappointment at that, but it was overshadowed by something else, something warm and glowing. He looked down at his hands in his lap, a smile growing on his face as another one of his worries tumbled away. Kurt did want to spend time with him. Just spend time. He glanced up curiously when Kurt’s hand came into view, picking up one of Blaine’s and twining their fingers together. “Okay?” Kurt asked.  
  
“Okay,” Blaine said. Kurt wedged their joined hands into the small space between their legs, so that the back of Blaine’s was pressed up against Kurt’s thigh, and Kurt’s was right next to his. Blaine took a deep breath that came out a little shuddery and leaned back against the bench. They sat in a companionable silence while the sun dragged itself lower in the sky.  
  
“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Kurt asked a short time later, the question sounding stiff and rehearsed.  
  
Blaine turned back toward him, unable to help but admire the strong line of Kurt’s profile. “What’s that?”  
  
“The other night,” Kurt said, “you mentioned you were afraid of moving away. Where are you going? Not back to Ohio?”  
  
It wasn’t exactly the question that Blaine had been expecting, and it made something heavy coalesce in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to think about what was going to happen  _after_ Kellerman’s. “Only to pack up my things. I’m starting college in the fall at NYU.”  
  
“New York?” Kurt asked, his voice suddenly wistful. “I always wanted to go to New York.”  
  
Blaine’s heart leapt a little, and he tamped it quickly back down. He and Kurt couldn’t have what other people had, not here, not there, and not anywhere else either. Being two people in the same city of millions wouldn’t make any difference as far as that was concerned. It would be better in the long run to just learn to enjoy what he had right in this moment, and, for now, push the painful thoughts away. “Why didn’t you?” he asked.  
  
“Oh, it’s a long story,” Kurt hedged.  
  
Blaine smiled at him. “The sun’s not even behind the mountains yet. We’ve got time.” He gave Kurt’s hand a squeeze.  
  
There was a moment of silence. “Have you ever heard of NYADA?” Kurt finally asked.  
  
Blaine’s brow creased and he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”  
  
“It’s the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts,” Kurt explained. “It’s a school for performing arts. For theater.”  
  
“You want to be on stage? Like on Broadway? Kurt, you’d be so good at that!” Blaine exclaimed. “Your voice is amazing, and you can dance…” His voice trailed away when he noticed Kurt shaking his head.  
  
“There aren’t a lot of parts written for men with my particular vocal range,” Kurt pointed out. “But yes, I’ve always dreamed of being on a Broadway stage, even if it’s just in the chorus.”  
  
“But NYADA… you didn’t go?”  
  
Kurt sighed. “They gave me an audition, but I canceled it.”  
  
“Kurt, why?” Blaine asked softly.  
  
Even though Blaine was watching him, Kurt continued to look out at the panorama in front of them. “It’s complicated. My dad owns a garage back home. Carole — that’s Finn’s mom — is a nurse. We were comfortable, but we were never wealthy.” Kurt shifted a little on the bench, and Blaine felt his muscles tense and contract against his hand. “Finn and I both had big plans. He was the starting quarterback on our high school football team. He wanted to keep playing, but he really just wanted to go to college. He didn’t have the grades, so he knew that he would need a scholarship to get into a good school. And… he didn’t get one. He was devastated.”  
  
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Blaine said into the pause that followed, waiting for Kurt to go on.  
  
Kurt seemed to be considering something, and then he added, “It’s why he wasn’t very nice to you when we first met.”  
  
Blaine blinked. “He didn’t like me because he didn’t get a football scholarship?”  
  
“He tends to be very resentful of anyone who he thinks is getting opportunities that he hasn’t gotten just because they’re able to pay for them,” Kurt clarified. “He was jealous.”  
  
“But — Rachel’s going to Juilliard! He wasn’t resentful about that?”  
  
Kurt gave him a side-eyed glance. “He thought Rachel was cute.”  
  
“I see,” Blaine said, speaking much more lightly. “But not me.”  
  
“No, not you.”  
  
His heart thudded in his chest as he blurted out, “You did, though. Um… didn’t you?”  
  
Blaine felt the pressure around his fingers tighten, and saw that Kurt was clearly fighting a smile. “Be that as it may, Finn didn’t, and that’s why he was nicer to Rachel than he was to you.”    
  
“That still doesn’t explain why you turned down your audition,” Blaine said gently.  
  
The mirth slid instantly from Kurt’s face. “NYADA is very exclusive. They only accept around twenty students a year, and only two of those get scholarships,” he said. “It’s also very expensive. There wouldn’t have been enough money to send both Finn and me to college as it was, and then my dad had a heart attack, so there were medical bills… There just wasn’t any way.”  
  
“But Kurt… what if you  _had_ gotten a scholarship? Now you’ll never know.”  
  
Kurt’s face was bleak. “And what if I hadn’t? What if they’d given me a spot but I had to turn it down? It would have killed me, and what’s worse, it would have killed my father. I couldn’t do that to him. He would have stopped taking his medicine if it would have meant more money for me to go to school. He would have offered, at least, and I couldn’t have him do that. I refuse to bankrupt him or put his health at risk.”  
  
Blaine caught the gleam of wetness in Kurt’s eyes, illuminated by the blaze of the late-day sun, and he felt his own throat start to constrict. He held Kurt’s hand tighter and pressed it hard against the side of his leg. Kurt returned the pressure, and they were locked so tightly together that Blaine could feel the long bones of their fingers shift against each other. “Maybe you can still go some day,” he offered. “I think you should. Don’t give up hope — there have to be other avenues.”  
  
“Maybe,” Kurt said in a voice that meant  _I’m not so sure_. He took a deep breath and lifted his chin. “So, what’s your plan? What are you going to study?” he asked, his tone full of forced cheer.  
  
Blaine allowed his grip around Kurt’s hand to ease a little and accepted the change of topic. “I’m not sure exactly which major I’m going to pick yet, but something that will help me out with law school. History maybe? Or English composition?”  
  
“You want to be a lawyer?” Kurt sounded surprised.  
  
“Yeah,” Blaine said, looking back down at his knees. “That’s kind of a long story too.”  
  
“The sun isn’t completely gone yet,” Kurt commented, one side of his mouth turning up in an encouraging smile.  
  
Blaine returned it fleetingly. “My dad wanted to be a lawyer,” he said, “It was his dream growing up, but he left college to fight in the war. By the time that was over, he knew that he’d have to support Mom — and me — one way or another, especially since my grandparents cut him off, so he found a job instead of going back to school.”  
  
“They cut him off? Just because he married your mother?”  
  
“My grandparents are Jewish, and they’re very traditional,” Blaine said. “They didn’t approve of him marrying someone who wasn’t.”  
  
“Still!” Kurt exclaimed, almost sounding like he was affronted on Blaine’s father’s behalf. “That’s a pretty extreme reaction.”  
  
Blaine shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know them at all. I’ve actually only met them twice — once at Rachel’s house, which was a complete accident, and once at my parents’ funeral. They seemed pretty… severe. I guess my dad never really got along with them. They had a huge falling out when he told them about my mom and me. My dad was so mad that he changed his name from Yosef Berry to Joe Anderson, and as far as I know, he never spoke to them again.”  
  
Kurt’s eyes were round. “Wow.”  
  
“Yeah. So, anyway, he had to get a job, and he ended up doing door-to-door sales for the Fuller Brush Company.”  
  
“Your dad was a Fuller Brush Man?” Kurt asked, amused.  
  
“Yup,” Blaine confirmed, “and a good one, too. It’s not that different from being a lawyer, if you think about it.”  
  
Kurt arched an eyebrow at him. “Selling cleaning supplies door-to-door isn’t that much different from being a  _lawyer_?”  
  
“In both cases, your success depends upon making a persuasive argument,” Blaine said, parroting the words he’d heard his father say so many times. “He didn’t like it very much, though.”  
  
“So you’re… living out his dream?”  
  
Blaine shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m part of the reason he wasn’t able to follow through with it.”  
  
“But — is it something that  _you_ want to do?”  
  
Blaine was quiet for a moment, but then he nodded. “My parents always wanted me to live the American dream — you know, be anything that I wanted to be, do everything that they couldn’t, that sort of thing. What my dad really meant was ‘Blaine, be a lawyer, because I didn’t get to.’ But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like something I really wanted to do. It’s probably not going to be like he expected. I want to use my career to help people. I’m not sure how it’s going to work yet, but I have to get through school first, so I’ll figure it out.”  
  
He turned to find Kurt smiling at him softly, the last flush of the sunset warming his skin and making him squint. “That sounds perfect.”  
  
“Thank you,” Blaine said, and he wanted to kiss Kurt so badly that it was as physical as a hunger pang.  
  
Kurt broke eye contact to glance over his shoulder into the woods. He faced Blaine again and murmured, “Oh, all right, then,” before leaning forward. Blaine eagerly met him halfway to exchange a handful of lush, lingering kisses that, even for all their sweetness, made his toes curl inside his shoes. Kurt punctuated them with a flick of his tongue against Blaine’s lips, and then he backed off, pulling a small groan out of Blaine’s mouth as he went. “No getting carried away,” Kurt whispered.  
  
“If you say so,” Blaine said, trying and failing to keep the petulant tone out of his voice.  
  
Kurt’s lips twisted up into a grin. “We should get going soon, anyway. The sun really is almost down now, and it’s already going to be dark going back through the woods. You’ll have to hold my hand,” he added flirtatiously.  
  
Blaine’s stomach fizzed. “If you say so,” he repeated.  
  
They stood from the bench and, even though it was more shadowy than it was dark, Blaine kept close beside Kurt as they wended their way back along the trail, shifting to walk slightly behind him when it was too narrow, but always in contact until they got too close to the trailhead, and Kurt drew to a stop. “You go first,” he said. “There probably isn’t anyone there, but just in case, we shouldn’t come out together.”  
  
Blaine nodded as the reality of their situation burst the rosy sunset bubble that he’d painted around it for the evening. “Okay. I’ll — see you later?” he asked, feeling a gnawing sense of insecurity creeping up on him again.  
  
“You will,” Kurt said definitively. “I’ll think of something.” He gave Blaine’s hand one last squeeze and then withdrew his own.  
  
“Good,” Blaine whispered. “Have a good night, Kurt.”  
  
“You too,” Kurt replied, his voice low and tender. Blaine wished that he could give him one last good night kiss, but they were too close to the rest of the world now — anyone could come crashing along without more than a few seconds’ notice. Instead, he gave a pained smile and turned to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Notes:** (story originally posted spring 2012; links may no longer be active)
> 
>   * I'm stealing the fact that the hotel has been operating for over 100 years from the real-life history of Mountain Lake Hotel, one of the locations where Dirty Dancing was filmed. The history of Mountain Lake Hotel is here: http://www.mtnlakehotel.com/Section_Home.asp?SID=30. 
>   * According to this website: http://www.healthecareers.com/article/nursing-50-years-back-and-today-how-the-nursing-field-has-changed-over-the-last-50-years/158432, nurses in the 1960s made less in one year than nurses today make in a month. So, unfortunately, Carole wasn't making much money and there really wasn't enough to pay for both Kurt and Finn's college educations without one or both of them getting a scholarship. (Side note: I actually thought Carole being a nurse was canon when I wrote this oops.)
>   * Traditional Judaism does not permit interfaith marriages. More on that here: http://www.jewfaq.org/gentiles.htm.
>   * The Fuller Brush Company was famous for its hard working door-to-door sales force. In 1956, the company had over 7,000 salespeople who visited 90% of the homes in the United States. The "Fuller Brush Man" became an iconic character who appeared in print cartoons and even Walt Disney's _The Three Little Pigs_. The company sold cleaning brushes (of course), cleaning supplies, vitamins, and cosmetics. More about the Fuller Brush Company here: http://ctculturehistory.blogspot.com/2011/08/connecticut-companies-fuller-brush.html.
> 



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I have to include one of these at the top. This chapter features another song that you might want to listen to when it comes up. The song is "Love is Strange" by Mickey and Sylvia, which can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpEA5QGYJFQ. The relevant part of the song starts at about 1:50.

Blaine quickly learned that the talent show rehearsals weren’t the worst place to be.  
  
On the surface, it would have been hard to tell why. Rachel pouted and scowled her way through the first few practices — much to her chagrin, she wasn’t permitted to sing any of the songs that she’d been preparing. Apparently, she’d groused to Blaine later, they didn’t fit in with Jacob’s  _vision_ , which turned out to be some sort of romantic farce involving pirates and hula dancing. Jacob had even written some truly atrocious dialogue to tie the various acts together, and in the end, Blaine was more than glad to not be performing in the production after all.  
  
Blaine also found that he didn’t mind working on the props, even though most of his responsibilities so far had revolved around assembling palm trees out of cardboard and plywood. He was looking forward to painting them next, following the outlines that one of the other guests had drawn for him. Blaine couldn’t lay claim to much artistic talent beyond his ability to sing, but he was fairly confident that he’d be able to paint by numbers.  
  
But that wasn’t what he enjoyed the most, not by a long shot. The best part was that Kurt was there. All the dance instructors were — even Quinn, who wasn’t quite well enough to jump in with her usual energy, but who had recovered sufficiently to help Kurt choreograph simple dance numbers for the guests who were brave enough to sign up and participate in them. Seeing her up and smiling did Blaine’s heart a world of good.  
  
That happiness was only eclipsed by the thrill of spending two hours a day in the same place as Kurt. It wasn’t quite the same as spending time together, but they were able to exchange private smiles and glances, and Blaine almost bit holes in his cheeks to keep from laughing as he watched Kurt’s horrified reaction to the first read-through of a scripted scene. He got to watch Kurt demonstrate dance moves, his clothes twisting as his body shifted underneath them, until Blaine had to force himself to look away. Sometimes, they passed near enough that they could brush their arms against each other without it being suspicious. On the fourth day, Kurt approached Blaine, ostensibly to ask if a piece of scenery could be shifted aside so that no one would trip over it while they were dancing.  
  
Then, he asked, quick and low, “Are you free tomorrow afternoon? Can you get away?”  
  
Blaine nodded, keeping his face neutral. “Yes, I can do that.”  
  
“Good. Meet me at my cabin, say, one-thirty?”  
  
“Okay,” Blaine said, his spirits lifting like they were buoyed by a helium balloon.  
  
“I’ll see you then,” Kurt whispered, giving him a meaningful look before returning to the dance group. Blaine sat down with a  _thunk_ , retrieving a paintbrush and fighting hard to keep from grinning.

\- / / -

The next afternoon, Kurt greeted Blaine at the door to his cabin, hustled him quickly inside, and then shut it again. The cheap plastic shades had been pulled down over every window, most of which were shut, leaving the air inside the cabin thick and dim. Blaine looked around in confusion and asked, “Why are all the windows closed?”  
  
“Hello to you too,” Kurt replied. “It’s all part of my brilliant plan, naturally. I told Finn that I was getting one of my headaches. He’ll tell everyone else, because no one wants to deal with me when I’m sick. Plus, that means that he has to cover all the lessons this afternoon, and he’s booked solid. He won’t be back for hours.” He looked at Blaine with an expectant smile.  
  
“But… the windows?”  
  
Kurt’s expression gave way to mild exasperation. “Well, the light bothers my eyes when I have a headache. And this way, we don’t have to worry about —”  
  
“Getting carried away?” Blaine interjected. His breath hitched a little.  
  
“Why, Blaine, I never suggested such a thing. Do you  _want_ to get carried away?” Kurt asked, cocking his head and smiling slyly. His eyes were mischievous and dark.  
  
That look alone was all it took for Blaine to feel fluttery and like he was too hot inside the room, too hot inside his clothes, too hot inside his  _skin_. He struggled for a nonchalant tone. “Oh, I don’t know. Only if we can’t think of any better way to pass the time.”  
  
Bemused, Kurt started moving across the room in Blaine’s direction. “Do you have any suggestions?”  
  
“Cribbage?” Blaine blurted out, trying to joke but just making himself cringe instead.  
  
That gave Kurt a moment’s pause, but he sauntered the rest of the way over to Blaine all the same. “I don’t know how to play,” he said, tilting his head and shrugging.  
  
“Oh,” Blaine said, caught up in watching Kurt’s mouth move at close range. “I’m all out of ideas, then.”  
  
“Okay,” Kurt said. He snaked one arm into the space between Blaine’s arm and his side, flexing his fingers firmly into Blaine’s back and reeling him in a little. “I guess that’s that.”  
  
Blaine hummed as Kurt’s mouth descended decisively onto his. Without hesitation, Blaine reached out to pull Kurt closer by his waist. As they came into closer contact, Kurt released his grip on Blaine’s waist to drape both arms around his shoulders. His skin was sticky and hot where it touched the back of Blaine’s neck.  
  
As far as he was concerned, Blaine could have happily stayed there, kissing Kurt for as long as he was able, until his lips dried out or he started to starve. But then Kurt was walking backwards, tugging Blaine by his shirt, their lips colliding at odd angles as they tried to stay connected. It made Blaine chuckle, until Kurt backed into the bed, dropping onto it gracelessly and yanking Blaine along with him, the impact of it knocking the laughter clean out of him.  
  
Kurt reached up and latched onto the back of Blaine’s head with one hand, crushing their mouths together while Blaine scrambled to toe his shoes off and get his knees onto the mattress. They were splayed on the bed at an awkward, diagonal angle, and Kurt began scooting himself back, almost knocking their foreheads together, pulling Blaine along by his neck and the back of his shirt. When they were settled, it was still rucked up in the back, and, whether by accident or design, Kurt’s free hand settled there and pressed in.  
  
Blaine groaned in response, momentarily embarrassed at how loud the noise was echoing into the cavern of Kurt’s mouth. Kurt just angled his wrist to run his hand a little further up Blaine’s back, digging his fingers into Blaine’s skin where it was starting to slick with sweat. Blaine went along with the pressure willingly, allowing Kurt to bring their bodies together even more snugly. One of Kurt’s legs was cradled between his own, and the other was splayed out to the side, where Kurt’s knee was angled up just a little and pushing tight into the outside of his thigh. There was no denying either of their arousal.  
  
Everything they did was new, but this, this was  _really new_  — Kurt underneath him, Kurt’s skin against his skin. Blaine felt his inexperience like a bind, locking his arms and legs in place, keeping him nervous and almost immobile. Kurt was still holding him close with a hand around the base of his skull, and Blaine kissed him over and over, until he gathered enough courage to stop teasing Kurt’s tongue and sweep his own more deeply into Kurt’s mouth. Kurt made a low noise in the back of his throat, pushing up against Blaine and his hand scrabbled at Blaine’s back.  
  
Encouraged, Blaine rocked his hips down experimentally, pleased when Kurt tightened all around him and made another choked off sound. He jerked his hand out from under Blaine’s shirt and started shoving it haphazardly up his back, whining in frustration when the closeness of their bodies prevented him from moving it more than a couple of inches.  
  
Blaine broke away from Kurt’s mouth with a shuddering gasp. “Kurt, are you —?”  
  
“Is that okay?” Kurt actually had one hand curled into the fabric by then. He scooted it up a tiny bit more, his knuckles grazing Blaine’s spine.  
  
Breathing heavily, Blaine froze. For a moment, he felt like he was actually vibrating in time with the flustered rhythm of his heart, and then he slowly eased himself up onto his elbows, giving Kurt better access. Kurt let out a harsh breath and drew the material up under Blaine’s arms. “You’re going to have to…”  
  
“Uh huh,” Blaine breathed, and he pushed up into a low crouch. Kurt’s hands fell away, and Blaine tugged the shirt over his head himself. He tried to quickly lower his body back down, but Kurt stopped him, using his hands around the barrel of Blaine’s chest. When Blaine steadied, Kurt ran them down, the angle a little awkward, the dampness making their skin stick and pull. His thumbs bumped over Blaine’s ribs, down to where he skin softened on his stomach, and then he ran them back up again, where one flickered across a nipple. Blaine’s whole body jumped and he collapsed down onto Kurt, finding his mouth for a sloppy kiss.  
  
Kurt allowed it, moving his hands around to sweep them across Blaine’s back unimpeded, but Blaine moved away after only a few seconds to mumble, “You too,” against Kurt’s lips, the words making him feel flushed. He tugged ineffectually at Kurt’s shirt.  
  
“Up,” Kurt ordered, pushing Blaine back onto his knees again. His eyes were locked on Blaine’s chest, and it made Blaine feel like squirming out of his skin, but he understood a lot better when Kurt struggled out of his t-shirt a moment later and all Blaine could see was the way his pale skin wrapped up his muscles and bones. Blaine’s breathing was going funny, puffing out of him with odd fits and starts, and it almost stopped entirely when Kurt leaned forward and dipped in to place a warm, open-mouthed kiss on Blaine’s bare shoulder. He paused, then dragged his lips to the outermost edge of Blaine’s collarbone, kissing him there and letting his teeth scrape. “Kurt,” Blaine choked out. Kurt lifted his head and grinned for a moment before pulling Blaine down.  
  
It was like diving into fresh bathwater — so much of Kurt’s skin against his, warm and damp, heating him up everywhere. Blaine was dazed, reeling, pliant and back to following Kurt’s lead, unable to do anything except chase the feel of him. He chased it with his lips and his hands, following the way that Kurt was touching and grabbing and kissing as much of his skin as he could reach. Blaine didn’t know how much time passed before he started trying to roll their bodies together again, and he didn’t realize that he was doing it until Kurt forced his hips up with his hands, breaking away to breathe “Blaine…” against his lips.  
  
“What?” Blaine gasped, pierced through with worry that he’d done something wrong.  
  
“Can I… touch you?”  
  
The words didn’t make sense, and Blaine wondered if it was because he mostly just felt dizzy. Kurt was already touching him everywhere. “What?” he repeated.  
  
Kurt dropped his hands between them and toyed with the button on Blaine’s pants.  
  
Oh. Not everywhere.  
  
As the realization set in, Blaine felt like he was barely keeping himself from shaking apart. His mouth had gone bone dry even in the humid room.  
  
He nodded.  
  
Kurt eased the button open and the zipper down, and Blaine braced himself, propped up on his unsteady arms and legs. Kurt’s hands worked around him, not quite touching as he lowered Blaine’s pants and underwear as far down his thighs as he could. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, feeling so exposed that Kurt might as well have removed his skin along with his clothing. He thought Kurt’s breathing sounded funny too, and then —  _oh_ , then Kurt  _was_ touching him. Blaine let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan and lurched forward, barely keeping himself balanced on his elbows, and then Kurt’s hand was gone.  
  
Blaine tore his eyes open just in time to see Kurt bring his hand to his mouth, his tongue coming out to moisten his palm. He watched Blaine the whole time, his eyes huge. “Oh, god,” he choked as Kurt reached for him again.  
  
It was different, so different from what his own hand felt like — Blaine had never made a routine habit of touching himself, but he’d done enough to know that this wasn’t the same. It was more exciting somehow, more unpredictable, maybe because Kurt’s hand was a different size and shape and texture than his own, maybe just for the simple fact that it was  _someone else_. He didn’t know, and he couldn’t spare a thought to figure it out as Kurt’s movements went from exploratory, to firm, to certain.  
  
It was only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before Blaine was right on the edge, but he fought the sensation. He was still hovering above Kurt, his head bent down and his eyes screwed shut and his mouth gasping for breath, and if he stayed like this… He managed to grind out Kurt’s name, trying to shift away.  
  
“Come on,” Kurt growled back, pulling at Blaine’s hip and redoubling his efforts.  
  
Everything tightened — the flick of a wrist before the whip cracked in the air — and then Blaine was soaring, crashing faster and harder than he ever had in his life, using his last conscious thought to command the muscles in his arms to brace against the bed, keeping himself from falling down onto the mess he was making of Kurt’s chest. For a split second, he wanted to be mortified, but it was all he could do to gain some control back over his limbs, push himself weakly to the side, and flop down onto the bed.  
  
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he panted out, his vantage point giving him a clear view of Kurt’s torso.  
  
“It’s okay,” Kurt said vaguely. His face was as flushed as Blaine’s felt, and Blaine could tell that he was discreetly wiping his hand on something.  
  
Blaine found his eyes drifting down until they were riveted to the front of Kurt’s jeans, where the evidence of his arousal was still clearly defined. “Can I?” he blurted, surprising even himself.  
  
Kurt nodded and made quick work of unfastening his own pants, barely lifting his hips to push them down. Blaine gulped and stared — Kurt looked different than he did, which was a ridiculous thought, because Kurt was different from Blaine everywhere, from his face to his hands to his feet. Blaine’s hand reached out almost of its own accord.  
  
He touched Kurt softly and lightly at first, just feeling his way along the skin that was softer than he expected, stretched tight and firm. Kurt breathed out a whine, shifting a little on the bed, and  _this is really happening_ , Blaine thought, awed. He wrapped his hand more fully around Kurt’s length and did his best to mirror what Kurt had done to him. Kurt had licked his hand, Blaine remembered. It wasn’t something he usually did for himself, but maybe he should for Kurt? Blaine began to draw his hand away, and he startled when Kurt’s eyes snapped open and he grabbed Blaine’s wrist. Kurt contemplated it for a moment, breathing harshly through his mouth, and then he pushed Blaine’s hand through the wetness still clinging to his skin and pooled in the dip of his sternum before moving it back to where it had been before.  
  
Blaine groaned, fighting what felt like a sudden, shuddering aftershock that was too much,  _too much_. Unthinkingly, he moved his hand over Kurt, reading Kurt’s reactions in the flutters of his eyelashes, the changes in his breathing, the tightening of his muscles. It didn’t take long at all before Kurt pitched his head back against the pillow, his mouth falling open to reveal the shining curve of his lower lip. He let loose a series of staccato breaths, then a guttural moan as his body jerked up. Blaine stared at him, wide-eyed, until Kurt batted his hand away, and then he looked dumbly at it instead. It was wet.  
  
“Here,” Kurt said faintly, shoving his discarded t-shirt at Blaine.  
  
“Kurt, no, you don’t have to ruin your clothes,” Blaine croaked back, even though it was obvious now what Kurt had wiped his hand on earlier.  
  
Kurt’s breathing was slowly regulating, and he looked limp and loose-limbed on the bed. He nudged the shirt in Blaine’s direction again. “It’s just a t-shirt.”  
  
“But —”  
  
With a sigh, Kurt flailed a hand out to take hold of Blaine’s wrist. He used the shirt to clean Blaine’s fingers gently, and then began wiping his own body. “Don’t worry about it,” he said as he worked, sounding a bit more like himself. “I don’t dress like this when I’m not here anyway.”  
  
Blaine rolled away and shimmied his pants back up, Kurt’s ministrations making him suddenly and awkwardly aware of how exposed he was. “You don’t?” he asked.  
  
“Nope.” Kurt tossed the shirt off the edge of the bed, refastened his jeans, and slumped back on the bed again.  
  
“So… how do you usually dress?” Blaine felt himself flush and melt a little as Kurt scooted close enough to press against him. Blaine tipped his head over so that it was resting on Kurt’s shoulder, moving carefully, trying to make it seem like it could have been an accident.  
  
“With a more style than just jeans and plain t-shirts,” Kurt said. He angled his neck so that his cheek was settled against Blaine’s forehead.  
  
Blaine breathed very carefully, like anything more than the shallow in and out of air from his lungs would shatter the moment. “I think you look good in jeans and t-shirts,” he mumbled.  
  
“Thank you,” Kurt said, and Blaine could hear the faint smile in his voice. “You should see me in my real clothes, though.”  
  
It hit Blaine then, like an unexpected blast of cold air rushing in through a door. He  _wouldn’t_ see Kurt in anything other than whatever he chose to wear at Kellerman’s. The time they had here was all the time they had. A thin silence stretched out between them, and Blaine wondered if Kurt was thinking the same thing. “So,” he began, desperately trying to break it, “why do you dress differently here?”  
  
Kurt shifted a little, bumping against Blaine’s body and unsettling them both. “Um, I guess I try not to draw any extra attention to myself while I’m here,” he finally said. “Max doesn’t like me as it is. He’d love a reason to get rid of me, so I do my best not to give him one.”  
  
Blaine thought back to that first night, when he’d watched with wide eyes as Mr. Kellerman had snapped at Kurt about his  _wise ass attitude_. “He doesn’t like you?” he asked, his voice small, sensing that he was walking into dangerous territory.  
  
He heard Kurt take a deep, even breath before he spoke. “He thinks I’m too feminine. That women wouldn’t want to buy lessons if they’re with me.”  
  
“You’re not feminine!” Blaine exclaimed, widening his eyes at the flat planes of Kurt’s chest, the muscles there and in his arms.  
  
Kurt snorted. “You may have a slightly different perspective,” he said, before quickly sobering. “He doesn’t like my voice. Or what I was wearing when he met me. Or anything else about me, really. I make him uncomfortable.”  
  
“But he hired you anyway?”  
  
“I think that had more to do with Finn and Quinn than anything else. Max really wanted them — Quinn especially — and they told him they wouldn’t work here unless he hired me too.”  
  
“Oh,” Blaine said. “But that’s… good, right?”  
  
“It’s good to have a job,” Kurt said, sounding unconvinced.  
  
The conversation lagged then. Blaine rubbed his cheek minutely against Kurt’s shoulder, wishing he had some sort of comfort to offer. Kurt turned into him slightly and reached out with his opposite hand to trace the edge of Blaine’s arm lightly with one fingertip, making gooseflesh break out across his skin. Blaine was sympathetic, but all at once, his mind was completely filled with one thought:  _I am lying on a bed, half undressed, with another man._  
  
As what they had done caught up with him, Blaine felt himself slowly tensing. He still didn’t know what he was doing, and he kept leaping forward impulsively without much forethought. He wasn’t sure if his newfound desire — more than that, his willingness — to touch and be touched was indecent, or if it was just… part of growing up. It was all so confusing. He  _knew_  that it was immoral to be here with Kurt, but it didn’t  _feel_  that way to Blaine at all. Despite the heat and the urgency of it all, there were times when it felt almost sacred. Reverent. Special.  
  
Even worse, he still wasn’t sure if it was the same for Kurt. It was more than obvious that the members of the Kellerman’s staff were far more used to dealing in the currency of physical intimacy than he was — look at the way they danced, how ready Noah was to give him the names of girls who would  _spend time_  with him. He knew it wouldn’t be so easy for Kurt, but there was no reason to believe that he hadn’t gotten close with other guests before. Maybe it happened with every new group that came through the doors.  
  
The thought made Blaine feel cold and small inside. The only reason to believe that what they were doing might be special was how much Kurt had shared of his life, and how he’d made Blaine feel comfortable enough to open up and talk about his own. He wanted to believe that it was different, but maybe those conversations weren’t anything unusual for Kurt either.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Kurt asked softly, and Blaine realized how stiff he’d grown, tightening his muscles like shields.  
  
“I was just wondering…” Blaine began, his voice dwindling when he didn’t find the words to continue.  
  
“What is it?” Kurt started to shift away, but Blaine reached out a hand to still him.  
  
He started again. “I was just wondering… if you’ve — done this before? A lot?”  
  
“Me? No,” Kurt answered, surprise evident in his voice. “Why…?”  
  
Blaine felt his face heating up. “It just seems like you know what you’re doing.” He raised a hand to gesture vaguely, realizing too late that he was mainly motioning at Kurt’s chest.  
  
“ _That_?” Kurt asked. “Oh, no. That was, um… the inspiration of the moment.”  
  
“It’s not just that,” Blaine said. “It’s… everything.”  
  
Kurt was tense against him then, too. “No… I, um. Remember Brittany? The cheerleader I told you about?” Blaine nodded, his skin catching against Kurt’s. “She taught me a few things. And I read a lot. But never… with anyone else like you.”  
  
Blaine tilted his head back against the pillow to see that Kurt’s face was aflame, his eyes averted. “What about you?” Kurt asked, and his voice sounded deliberately light.  
  
“No,” Blaine said, and he wanted to laugh, because he was fairly sure that much was obvious. “I sort of necked with a girl. Once, after junior prom. That’s… pretty much it.” Blaine didn’t elaborate, but there wasn’t much more to say about it than that. At the time, he’d thought that it seemed like a wet and complicated exercise. He’d spent most of the time wondering if his date had expected him to move his hands. He hadn’t.  
  
“Oh. That’s… fine,” Kurt said after a moment, and he angled back around toward Blaine again, their faces close together on the pillow.  
  
“Yeah,” Blaine replied, although he barely knew what he was responding to.  
  
“Yeah,” Kurt breathed back.  
  
Blaine reached out, cradling the back of Kurt’s jaw in one hand as he leaned in to kiss him once, twice, lingering. Kurt sighed when Blaine released him, and they stayed close together under the sticky blanket of the warm afternoon until they had to go their separate ways.

\- / / -

The following day, Blaine visited Kurt in the dance studio with a stack of new magazines. Kurt had over an hour between lessons, and he happily pulled himself up to sit on the table next to Blaine, their legs sticking out in front of them and their shoulders pressed together as they leafed through the pages. Kurt kept up a running commentary, pointing at pictures of celebrities and giving his very honest opinion of their clothing, leaving Blaine glowing with laughter.  
  
When one record ended, Kurt crossed the room to change it while Blaine continued to flip through a magazine. Blaine recognized the opening guitar riff of “Love is Strange” by Sylvia and Mickey and hummed along through the first verse, turning the pages lazily. Kurt rifled through a few more records, assembling a small pile on the table.  
  
The bridge of the song ended, and almost without realizing he was doing it, Blaine crooned, “Sylvia?” along with the record.  
  
His eyes snapped up in surprise when Kurt answered back, “Yes, Mickey?” He’d turned around to face Blaine, leaning back against the little table beside the record player, a gleam in his eye and a wicked tilt to his lips.  
  
Blaine grinned and came in a little late on his next line, “How do you call your lover boy?”  
  
Kurt, however, didn’t miss a beat. “ _Come here, lover boy!_ ” he growled, perfectly in time with Sylvia.  
  
Even after everything, it made Blaine feel like he was blushing to the roots of his hair. “And if he doesn’t answer?”  
  
“Oh, lover boy,” Kurt cooed, pushing away from the table and starting to stalk across the room toward Blaine.  
  
Blaine tossed the magazine off his lap and moved to the edge of the table, letting his legs dangle. “And if he  _still_ doesn’t answer?”  
  
“I simply say,” Kurt continued, drawing very close. He leaned into Blaine, forcing him to bend back and rest his weight on his hands. “ _Baby… oh, baby… my sweet baby, you’re the one_ ,” Kurt finished, practically singing into Blaine’s mouth before he sealed their lips together. Blaine darted out one leg to hook his ankle around the back of Kurt’s thigh.  
  
Only a few seconds had passed — just long enough for Blaine’s mind to begin to really fuzz around the edges — when they heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs.  
  
With a startled gasp, Kurt wrenched himself away from Blaine and all but threw himself to the other side of the room. Blaine shoved himself back on the table, grabbing for the magazine and using it to hastily cover his lap. He stared blankly at the pages, unseeing, as Jacob appeared at the head of the stairs, his ever present clipboard in hand. “Blaine!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”  
  
Kurt pulled the needle off the record with a loud screech that made them all cringe.  
  
“Hi, Jacob,” Blaine responded politely, hoping that his face wasn’t as hot as it felt. His heart was thudding so loudly that he was afraid it would muffle his words.  
  
Jacob looked back and forth between Blaine and Kurt. “As a matter of fact, what  _are_ you doing here?”  
  
“He’s here for a lesson with Quinn,” Kurt spoke up quickly, much to Blaine’s relief.  
  
“I’m glad to hear that she finally decided to start working again,” Jacob sniffed. “Is she late?” He located the clock on the wall and frowned, looking at Blaine expectantly.  
  
“No,” Blaine said. “I had the time wrong. I’m early.” Kurt flashed him a grateful look over Jacob’s shoulder.  
  
“Well, when she gets here, just make sure you get your full half-hour’s worth,” Jacob instructed him sternly.  
  
Blaine smiled tightly. “Of course.”  
  
Jacob gave him a satisfied nod and turned back to Kurt. “Now, Kurt, I wanted to talk to you about the last dance at the show next week. As you know, I’m in charge of things this year, and I was thinking that maybe it’s time to — shake things up. Move with the times.”  
  
Kurt’s face clearly registered his disbelief, but there was a spark of life there too. “Really?” Jacob nodded, and Kurt started to babble. “Oh, I have so many ideas! I’ve been thinking it would be fun to try something new — maybe I could teach it to some of the staff kids, kind of a cross between a Cuban rhythm and —”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jacob cut him off. “You’re in way over your head!” Kurt deflated visibly, rocking back on his heels and arching an eyebrow. “You always have Finn and Quinn do the mambo for their last dance. I was thinking maybe they could do…” He shot an excited look at Blaine. “…the pachenga!”  
  
“Oh, right,” Kurt said flatly.  
  
“Well,” Jacob said, his voice wheedling, “you could always do the same tired number again, if you want, but maybe we’ll find different dance instructors next year… I’m sure we can find someone who’d be only too happy to —”  
  
“Sure, Jacob,” Kurt interrupted him. “We’ll end the show with the pachenga.”  
  
“Good.” Without another word, Jacob turned to start descending the stairs. Just before he was out of sight, he looked over at Blaine again. “I’ll see you later, Blaine. Tell Rachel I said hello.”  
  
“Sure,” Blaine said. “Bye, Jacob.”  
  
They both waited, frozen, until the sound of his footsteps had faded and the door shut behind him.  
  
As soon as Blaine was sure they were alone again, he tossed aside the magazine and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. He took gasping breaths, and before long he was shaking all over, his muscles unable to hold the tension anymore. That had been too close.  
  
If Jacob had caught them, Blaine knew better than to think he would have afforded them any discretion, and what then? Blaine always assumed that if his secret was discovered, he would at least have Hiram’s support, however quiet it had to be. But what would Rachel think? And Shelby? If it came out here, would he have to walk around while everyone whispered about him? He would hide in his room for the rest of the vacation if it was necessary. No, Blaine thought, they would probably leave instead, and Kurt would have to leave too, especially if Mr. Kellerman found out.  
  
Blaine wiped his hands down over his face. He had never considered how dangerous this was for Kurt. In fact, he wouldn’t blame Kurt at all if he decided to just cut the whole thing off now, before it was too late —  
  
Kurt’s voice gently invaded his racing thoughts. “Blaine?” he asked. “Are you okay?”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he gasped, looking up earnestly at Kurt. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Kurt said, concern written all over his features — concern for  _Blaine_ , when he’d almost cost Kurt his job. He’d moved back across the room and was standing in front of Blaine now, just far away enough to be out of reach. “We just have to be more careful.”  
  
“You mean you don’t want to —” Blaine almost didn’t want to give voice to the word “— stop?”  
  
“No, I don’t want to  _stop_ ,” Kurt replied immediately. He swooped in and tugged Blaine forward to the edge of the table to wrap his arms around Blaine’s shoulders. Blaine sighed and burrowed his forehead into Kurt’s chest. “We’ll just have to — be more careful,” Kurt repeated, rubbing small circles into Blaine’s back.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Blaine whispered again.  
  
“Don’t apologize!” Kurt ordered him. “It’s my fault too, probably more than yours. I just… I really like spending time with you, and I — forget.”  
  
“I like spending time with you too,” Blaine mumbled into his shirt. Kurt’s arms tightened, and Blaine brought his hands up to latch onto Kurt’s sides. “We’re not being very careful now,” he pointed out, even though he was loathe to do so.  
  
Kurt sighed. “I know. So, we’ll be very careful, starting…” He pushed Blaine back a little, tilting his face up to press a single kiss to his upturned lips. “Now.”  
  
He released Blaine then, stepping away slowly as Blaine returned his unwilling hands to his knees. The space between his dangling feet and Kurt’s stiff frame suddenly felt like another presence in the room with them, bulky and unwanted. “Okay,” Blaine said, forcing a smile onto his face.  
  
They would be careful, because no one else could know.  
  
There wasn’t any other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Note:** (story originally posted spring 2012; link may no longer be active)
> 
>   * Here's a selection of magazines that Kurt and Blaine might have been looking at: http://www.whosdatedwho.com/sections/magazines/archive/1963/july. The magazines are actually Rachel's.
> 



	10. Chapter 10

“I think I’m going to go all the way with Noah,” Rachel announced. “Tonight.”  
  
The words made Blaine jolt in his chair, his elbow threatening to knock over the glasses of lemonade on the small table in between them. “What?” he exclaimed, his voice too loud in the afternoon air punctuated only by distant noise from the direction of the beach.  
  
He and Rachel were sitting in a pair of wooden chairs at one corner of the porch at the main house. It didn’t escape his notice that she hadn’t turned the page of her magazine once since they’d settled in almost half an hour before, choosing instead to stare vaguely in the direction of the lake. She was still looking at it when she added, “He doesn’t even know it yet.” Her face looked more troubled than anything else.  
  
“Rachel…” For a moment, Blaine was at a complete loss for words. They had never talked about anything like this, and the fact she’d chosen to say something about  _Noah_ of all people made his stomach churn. What finally came out of his mouth was: “You can’t.”  
  
That brought her head around quickly. Her face was hard as she arched an eyebrow and asked, “I  _can’t_?” in a dangerous tone of voice.  
  
Blaine backpedaled immediately. “I didn’t mean it like that. I would never tell you what to do,” he said, and Rachel looked somewhat mollified. “It’s just… it shouldn’t be that way. It should be with someone — someone you sort of… love.” The last word dropped out of his mouth like a stone into water, one that he hadn’t even allowed himself to think when he was all alone by himself in the darkness of his room, much less hold up to the bright light of day. He lowered his eyes to the porch railing and stared at it unseeingly.  
  
“I know,” Rachel said, and there was something sad and wistful about her voice. She shook her head after a moment’s pause, seeming to regain some of her usual determination. “How do you know that I don’t?”  
  
Blaine struggled to pull himself out of his own thoughts. “You don’t even know him,” he said. “How can you love him if you don’t even know him?”  
  
“I know him better than you think,” Rachel admitted. “I’ve talked to him. We took a walk yesterday. Honestly, he’s not as bad as you’ve built him up to be in your head. You don’t know him either.”  
  
Blaine frowned. When had they taken a walk? Probably sometime when he’d sneaked away to see Kurt, or when he’d been so lost in thoughts about Kurt that he had no idea what was going on around him. “Look, Rachel,” he started, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve heard that he’s gotten girls in trouble before. And then he denied it, and he refused to help them. Those aren’t the actions of a good guy.”  
  
Rachel was chewing her lip, and she still wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Those are just rumors, Blaine.” He was relieved to hear that she sounded a little less strident.  
  
“They come from a pretty reputable source,” Blaine muttered, hoping that she wouldn’t ask him to clarify further, especially if she was starting to put two and two together.  
  
She didn’t ask. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all, choosing instead to turn her troubled face back to the lake.  
  
Blaine let her ruminate in silence for a moment before he called her attention back. “Rach?”  
  
When she looked back over, Blaine was surprised by the bleak look on her face. She looked like she was about to cry. “Yeah?”  
  
“Promise me that you’ll think about it, okay? Before you make any final decisions?”  
  
Rachel nodded. “I promise,” she said, and then she stood abruptly. “I’m going to go get ready for rehearsal.”  
  
“Do you want me to come with you?” Blaine offered.  
  
“No, no,” she said. “I think I’d like a little time alone. I just want to change my clothes and splash some water on my face. I’ll see you there?”  
  
“Okay.” Blaine gave her a small smile, which she returned, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes.  
  
There were only a few rehearsals left before the performance, a fact that Blaine stalwartly pushed aside every time it threatened to intrude his thoughts. His family would be leaving Kellerman’s the day after the show, and that was less than a week away.  
  
By that afternoon’s practice, most of the large pieces of scenery were done and standing in place on the stage. However, earlier in the day, one member of the dance group had tripped over the palm tree at the edge of the stage, and it had refused to stand upright ever since. Blaine was sitting on the floor, partially out of sight, reinforcing the piece of plywood that propped it up in the back, when he heard a woman’s voice say in sultry tones, “You know, I haven’t forgotten our night together.”  
  
It came from nearby, and Blaine peered curiously out through the space between the edge of the curtain and the tree trunk. He found Finn sitting at a table not far away, and Blaine’s eyebrows shot up when he saw Terri Schuester leaning over it in a way that put everything revealed by the low neckline of her top on obvious display. “This is our last chance for a repeat,” she purred. “I’ve got something worked out for us, just you wait and see.” She winked and, without waiting for a response, drifted back to a group of guests clustered around another table. Finn scowled at his clipboard, and then looked up at the stage, a wistful expression crossing his face.  
  
Blaine followed his gaze back to Rachel, who was rehearsing her solo — an original song that Jacob had penned called “Hula Hana,” whose lyrics sounded a bit suggestive to Blaine’s ears. Kurt stood nearby, glowering, presumably at the ridiculous hula-inspired dance moves that he’d been forced to invent, which Rachel was awkwardly trying to pair with the lyrics. From Finn’s soft expression, though, it would have seemed more likely that she was singing a love song directly to him, or maybe performing to a standing ovation from a sold out crowd. As she finished her song, Rachel sank dramatically to the stage per Jacob’s direction, and Finn smiled.  
  
“That was excellent, Rachel, as always!” Jacob praised, hurrying onto the stage from the wings. It did nothing to smooth her aggrieved expression, and she moved hurriedly away with a curt “thank you” before he could say anything else.  
  
“All right,” Jacob continued, projecting loudly out to the room now and clapping his hands. “The pirate number is up next! Everyone in the pirate number to the stage please!”  
  
At the announcement, a man with slicked-down hair and chiseled-looking features approached Finn’s table to retrieve a pirate’s hat that was sitting there. “Hello,” he said cheerfully. “My wife mentioned that you’re giving last-minute dance lessons to help everyone get ready for the show. Apparently, she thinks she needs some extra help.” He pressed several crumpled bills into Finn’s hand while Mrs. Schuester watched glowingly from a few feet away. Blaine’s eyes rounded. “Why don’t you sign her up for an hour or two? Thanks!”  
  
He turned to leave, but after staring down at the cash in his hand for a moment, Finn called after him. “Mr. Schuester, wait! I’m afraid I’m booked solid, and it wouldn’t be right for me to take your money.” He extended the bills, which Mr. Schuester accepted with a shrug. Mrs. Schuester watched the exchange and narrowed her eyes at Finn, who turned pointedly away.  
  
Blaine was distracted from the scene as Rachel plopped down beside him dejectedly. “Why did I ever sign up for this?” she grumbled.  
  
“Because you love performing,” Blaine reminded her, turning his attention back to the tree.  
  
“Not  _that_ ,” she complained, devolving into a full-fledged sulk.  
  
“Well, if it’s any consolation, you make the song better by singing it,” he said gallantly, knowing well that flattery was a sure way to lift Rachel’s spirits.  
  
He was surprised to hear only a quiet, preoccupied “thanks” in response, and turned to see Rachel staring sadly at Finn. Blaine looked from Finn to Mrs. Schuester, and then back to Rachel, his brow creasing in concern.

\- / / -

Blaine replayed what he’d seen over in his mind several times as he lay in his bed. Knowing that Mrs. Schuester had essentially offered to pay Finn for sex left him shocked and queasy. He wondered if Mr. Schuester knew about the arrangement, or if he was as innocent about it as he’d seemed. He remembered Finn’s evident consideration of the money and the longing way he’d watched Rachel.  
  
Several times since the afternoon, he’d been close to mentioning something about what he’d seen to Rachel, but what was there to say?  _Finn still has feelings for you, but I don’t know if you should do anything about it, because he might involved in some seedy behavior_. In the end, he decided that it really didn’t matter, not when they were leaving in six days and Rachel and Finn weren’t even talking to each other anyway.  
  
Blaine had barely managed to doze off when he heard something that sounded like a sharp knock against his window. He jerked his eyes open and squinted at it for a long, silent moment. Maybe he’d just been dreaming?  
  
But then the sound repeated itself, echoed rapidly by a second, a staccato  _tap-tap_. Something electric and exciting twisted in his stomach. It couldn’t possibly be what it seemed like, but still he climbed out of his bed and peeked at the yard below.  
  
Kurt  _was_ there. He grinned and lowered his arm, which had already been cocked back for another throw. Blaine’s answering smile came unbidden, and they nodded at each other before Kurt released a handful of pebbles to the ground.  
  
Blaine quickly pulled on appropriate outerwear and crept to the bathroom. He’d gone for an evening run and showered earlier, not bothering to restyle his hair because he hadn’t planned to leave the cabin again. There wasn’t enough time to repair all the damage, but he did what he could with a dab of Brylcreem. When he was done, he moved through the cabin on tiptoe, past the other quiet bedrooms and out onto the porch, easing the door shut behind him. He was greeted by a cool breeze like a caress and Kurt waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Blaine wanted to go to him, hug him and kiss him and take his hand, let the heat from their bodies seep together in the chilled night air, but instead, he drew as close as he dared, beaming.  
  
“The studio?” Kurt whispered.  
  
Blaine nodded. “Okay.” They turned and began walking, quiet because they had to be, but a thick, quiet affinity remained.  
  
As soon as they were at the top of the stairs, Kurt turned to give him a kiss, leisurely and sweet. “Hello,” he said when he pulled away, his eyes bright in the dark.  
  
“Hi,” Blaine replied, tangling their fingers together. “To what do I owe the honor?”  
  
Kurt dipped his head a little, looking down and away, and if Blaine wasn’t mistaken, his smile faltered a bit. “What if I just wanted to see you?”  
  
“That’s… acceptable,” Blaine said.  
  
“Good.” Kurt turned back to meet his eye, but then his gaze drifted higher. “Your hair is different.”  
  
“Yes,” Blaine said darkly.  
  
Kurt reached up a hand to push his hand into the hair above Blaine’s ear. “I’ve been wondering what you look like without any of this.”  
  
“Like Jacob Ben Israel on a bad day,” he muttered, leaning into Kurt’s touch.  
  
“I’m sure it’s not  _that_ bad,” Kurt said reassuringly, as he began scratching lightly at Blaine’s scalp.  
  
Blaine’s eyes drifted shut. It might be worth the embarrassment of looking like a circus clown if this was what he got in return. “Don’t be so sure.”  
  
Kurt hummed and moved his hand further back into Blaine’s hair, then tugged him forward for another kiss, one that started slow and then deepened until their mouths were molded together, their tongues moving in the space in between. Kurt’s hand drifted down until the tips of his fingers were edging under the waistband of Blaine’s pants.  
  
Blaine pulled back abruptly. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Of course,” Kurt said, looking confused and a little worried.  
  
“Do people here… do they have a lot of, you know… a lot of sex?” He could feel his whole face heating up.  
  
“Oh,” Kurt said, his face clearly reflecting his surprise. He stepped back a little, pulling his hand out of Blaine’s hair. “I guess that would depend on what you consider ‘a lot’ to be.”  
  
“What about for money?” Blaine blurted out. Maybe he was just taking everything too seriously. Kurt seemed taken aback, but not bothered. Maybe being physically close wasn’t the precious thing that it felt like when he was with Kurt.  
  
Kurt, who was fidgeting now. “Why do you ask?”  
  
“Just something I heard,” Blaine said, painting the truth with the broadest brush possible.  
  
“Those are mostly just rumors,” Kurt said.  
  
“Mostly?”  
  
Kurt sighed. “Let’s not beat around the bush. Is this about Finn?” he asked.  
  
Blaine’s eyes widened, and he nodded. Kurt’s quick understanding all but confirmed his suspicions, didn’t it?  
  
“I think — I think it must be hard for you to imagine what it’s been like for us,” Kurt said, speaking slowly like he was picking his words with care. “There have been times that we haven’t had enough money to buy anything other than candy, so that’s what we ate to stay alive. Last summer, there was a woman here — her name was Santana, and she was young, our age, the trophy wife of some rich businessman. She took a liking to Finn, and she was practically stuffing diamonds in his pockets. I think he — saw it as an easy way to alleviate some of our problems.”  
  
“So he used her?” Blaine asked. His emotions clashed, sour and sad all at the same time.  
  
“I tend to think of it the other way around,” Kurt clarified. “I think something might have happened with one of the guests at the beginning of this summer, too, but he won’t talk to me about that.”  
  
Blaine nodded. He could feel that his brow was furrowed and his mouth was twisted.  
  
“It’s just something that happened, Blaine. Finn’s not — he’s not a bad person, or at least he tries really hard not to be. You shouldn’t worry, and you can tell Rachel not to either.”  
  
“This isn’t about Rachel,” Blaine said quickly.  
  
“Isn’t it?”  
  
“Well,” Blaine hedged, “kind of, but not exactly. She doesn’t know."  
  
“Oh.” Kurt cleared his throat. “Let’s not talk about Finn anymore. I have something I wanted to ask you too.”  
  
That — along with Kurt’s tone, which had gone high-pitched and nervous all of a sudden — brought Blaine’s attention back. He looked up to find Kurt watching him with a guarded expression. “It’s all right if you say no.”  
  
Blaine’s heart lurched a little in his chest. “What is it?”  
  
“I was wondering if we could try something? If  _I_ could try something?” Blaine felt a brief flare of disappointment that he wasn’t sure that he entirely understood, but then his pulse was racing as he took in the shifting expression on Kurt’s face. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about,” he added in a tone of voice very much indicated that he was expecting Blaine to say no, which, frankly, Blaine thought very unlikely.  
  
“What is it?” Blaine repeated, his voice much breathier this time.  
  
“Would you let me — maybe — um, use my mouth? On you?”  
  
Which was how Blaine found himself lying flat on his back on a stretching mat wearing nothing but his underwear, trying to not to be swept away entirely as he learned the way that Kurt’s lips felt all over the skin of his chest, the warm swipe of his tongue and the suction, and now, the slight nip of his teeth against the softness around Blaine’s navel. The unexpected sharpness made Blaine jump and shudder as he dug his fingers into Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt responded by sucking the bit of skin he was worrying into his mouth a bit more forcefully before pushing himself up and away, straddling Blaine’s legs. He still had his pants on, but not his shirt, and even in the dim light, Blaine could see that his flush was dripping all the way down below his collarbone.  
  
“Okay,” he said, his voice little more than air. “Okay. So, I’m going to…”  
  
“Okay,” Blaine choked, and then Kurt was swooping down, his movements a little jerky and nervous, to press a kiss  _there_ , right through the fabric. Blaine gasped and jolted, making Kurt lurch back. “Sorry!” Blaine exclaimed, scooting away and pulling himself up on his elbows. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t… I couldn’t help it. Maybe it would be better if you just — skipped that part.” Blaine felt like he was a second away from shuddering into dust right there on the studio floor, and he was fairly sure that there would be no  _next part_  if Kurt insisted on continuing that.  
  
Kurt was wide-eyed as he shifted off to the side and hooked his fingers under the waistband of Blaine’s underwear. “All right?”  
  
Blaine nodded and lifted his hips, and then he was naked, completely naked in front of another person for the first time since he was a child. Kurt stared, and it made Blaine feel awkward, which he expected, and also shot him through with a strange sense of excitement and power, which he did not. Kurt crawled in between Blaine’s legs, forcing them to part. Blaine felt the rasp of denim against the insides of his knees, and then everything just made him feel vulnerable. Kurt leaned over again.  
  
This time, Kurt’s mouth descended at the bottom of his breastplate. The press of his lips was gentle at first, and his hair fell forward and tickled Blaine’s skin. It made Blaine feel shivery all over, at least until Kurt started downward again and the heat and heaviness started to build anew. Blaine balled his hands into fists, not sure what else to do with them.  
  
“Oh my god,” he rushed out when Kurt reached his destination, lips pressing directly on skin this time. He couldn’t help the way his body bucked again, but Kurt had one strong hand on his hip, keeping him from moving too far. His mouth grew sure quickly as he continued to explore the length of Blaine’s erection with his lips and tongue, and then he angled and started to take Blaine inside.  
  
“ _Oh my god_ ,” Blaine repeated, and his head thunked back hard against the mat. He’d had no idea that anything could feel like  _this_ — hot and wet, shocking, so good,  _beyond_  good. His mind, when it was able to find words, only came up with disjointed gasps of  _warm_ and  _close_ and  _private_. He felt now that although he’d heard the word  _intimate_  before, he’d never really known what it meant.  
  
With a sudden jolt of clarity, Blaine realized that it wouldn’t be long at all before he came flying apart entirely, and he still had just enough brainpower to think that he shouldn’t…  _do that_ with Kurt’s mouth there. He managed to bat feebily at Kurt’s shoulder and pant out his name.  
  
Kurt made an inquisitive humming noise, and that was  _it_. Blaine was vaguely aware of Kurt’s hand tightening forcefully on his hip when his body jerked, and Kurt’s mouth stayed there the whole time, until he leaned away, swiping the back of his hand over his chin. Blaine lay weakly on his back, fixing his eyes on the ceiling for a moment, and then closing them as he tried to catch his breath.  
  
He yanked them open again when he heard the harsh sound of Kurt’s zipper opening. Lifting his head felt like a struggle, and when he did, he saw the muscles in Kurt’s arm and shoulder flexing as he moved his hand rapidly over himself. “Kurt, no,” Blaine said feebly. “I wanted to…”  
  
“Too close,” Kurt grunted. His face scrunched as his movements became momentarily frantic, then he gasped and his features slackened, his mouth open and his eyes closed. Blane watched, his jaw hanging ajar, until Kurt released his grip and slumped forward. He fumbled into the pocket of his pants, bringing out a handkerchief that he used to wipe himself up. When he started to work his pants back up, however, Blaine reached out to touch his arm.  
  
“Can you… take them off instead?” he asked.  
  
Kurt looked at him curiously. “Yes?”  
  
“I just want to see you,” Blaine said quietly. It seemed ridiculous suddenly that after all of this, he’d never seen Kurt’s calves. He’d never even seen his  _knees_.  
  
His embarrassment mounted, but then Kurt smiled a little. “Okay,” he said, pulling the pants down and off instead, revealing the strong muscles in his legs when he stretched out next to Blaine on the mat, nudging him until they were both lying on their sides, facing each other. It wasn’t comfortable — Blaine could feel the bones in his shoulder and hip digging into the floor, and the arms that they didn’t move to wrap around each other were a tangle in the middle — but, just for a moment, as he reached out one foot to tuck it between Kurt’s ankles, it was perfect. They shared a single, slow kiss, keeping their faces close when they separated.  
  
“I wanted to do that for you too,” Blaine mumbled, because he really did. The very idea shot a bolt of excitement through him, made him breathe a little faster, and he wanted to make Kurt feel every bit as good as Kurt had made him feel.  
  
“You will,” Kurt said softly. “I just — couldn’t wait.”  
  
Blaine nodded, the skin over his cheekbone scraping against the rough surface of the mat. “Is that… how men… do it? Have sex, I mean?”  
  
“It’s one way,” Kurt replied. He moved his fingers in little patterns on the small of Blaine’s back, but he didn’t elaborate, and Blaine couldn’t seem to open his mouth to ask  _what else_? There had already been so much more than he had ever known was possible, and there were only six days left.  
  
“I’m glad…” he started, feeling an unexpected tightness in his throat brought on by the weight of  _less than one week_. “I’m glad that this happened.”  
  
Kurt tugged them closer together, pressing their foreheads in tight and closing his eyes. “Me too.”

\- / / -

At breakfast the next morning, Blaine noticed that Rachel was uncharacteristically quiet. She was abstracted, picking at her food with a tiny smile on her face, and he was, given their discussion on the porch, terrified by what it meant. His only comfort was that she didn’t seem to be following Puck with her eyes, as she’d done for the past several days, but she might have been avoiding doing so on purpose.  
  
They’d been sitting with another couple, who left shortly after they were done eating. Blaine’s family lingered a bit longer while Hiram finished his coffee, and after a minute or two, Mr. Kellerman dropped heavily into one of the chairs with a sigh, Jacob trailing closely behind to take the other.  
  
“What’s wrong, Max?” Hiram asked mildly.  
  
Mr. Kellerman fixed him with a solemn gaze. “You know how you feel when you see a patient, and you think he’s all right, but then you take a look at the x-rays, and it’s nothing like you thought?”  
  
“I suppose so, yes.” Hiram took a sip of his coffee. “What happened?”  
  
“Well, that’s exactly how you feel when you find out that one of your staff’s a thief.”  
  
“Will Schuester’s wallet was stolen when he was playing pinochle last night,” Jacob jumped in, sounding entirely too eager. “It was in his jacket hanging on the back of his chair. He had it at 1:30, but when he checked again at quarter of four… it was missing.” He widened his eyes dramatically at Rachel, who ignored him. Shelby made a sympathetic noise.  
  
“Terri thinks she remembers this dance kid Finn walking by,” Mr. Kellerman said. Rachel’s head jerked up. “So we asked him if he has an alibi for last night. He says he was alone in his room reading.”  
  
Jacob smirked. “Finn Hudson never read a book in his life.”  
  
“There has to be a mistake,” Rachel blurted out. “I know that Finn didn’t do it.”  
  
Mr. Kellerman shook his head, an exaggerated look of sadness painted all over his face. “There have been similar thefts at the Sheldrake, and it’s even happened here before.”  
  
“Three other wallets,” Jacob confirmed.  
  
“Doesn’t Finn stay with his brother?” Rachel shot a frenzied look at Blaine. “Couldn’t you ask him if Finn was in his room last night?” Blaine sucked in a nervous breath and bit his lip as his heart started to pound.  
  
“Several other members of the staff saw Finn’s stepbrother leaving Quinn Fabray’s room this morning,” Mr. Kellerman said, before adding in undertone, “which comes as quite the surprise.” Jacob snorted, nodding his agreement, and Blaine felt a flood of relief warring with infuriation over Mr. Kellerman and Jacob’s dismissive attitude toward Kurt. There was genuine confusion too — had Kurt really gone to Quinn’s cabin after they’d parted ways the night before? Why would he go there instead of to his own room?  
  
“Well, maybe — maybe you just need to figure out who else did it,” Rachel said, her voice growing faster and more frantic with each word. “You know who it could have been? That little old couple — the Schumachers. We saw her with a couple of wallets, didn’t we, Blaine?” She looked at him again for corroboration, and Blaine shook his head, more out of disbelief than disagreement.  
  
“Sylvia and Sidney?” Mr. Kellerman asked. He and Jacob both stared at Rachel, aghast.  
  
“ _Rachel_ ,” Hiram said sternly. “You don’t just go around accusing innocent people!”  
  
“But I even saw them at the Sheldrake!” Rachel protested, and Blaine cringed. That wasn’t a kettle of fish that he particularly wanted to open again. “Didn’t you say that something was taken from the Sheldrake?” She turned to look accusingly at Mr. Kellerman.  
  
“I have an eyewitness and the kid has no alibi,” Mr. Kellerman said firmly. “Come on, Jacob, you’ll find out what it’s like to fire an employee.”  A gleeful look flitted across Jacob’s face, and the two men moved to stand.  
  
“Wait!” Rachel exclaimed. She took a deep breath and held out her hands, entreating them. “Please wait. I know that Finn didn’t take the wallet. He was in his room all night. And the reason I know is because —” there was a brief pause, and she shot pained, terrified looks at Blaine and her father “— is because I was with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Notes:** (story originally posted spring 2012; links may no longer be active)
> 
>   * Brylcreem was a popular men's styling aid in the 1950s and early 1960s. You can read a history of the product here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/fashion/fashion-blog/2012/apr/02/brief-history-of-brylcreem.
>   * For those of you who are reading that have never seen the movie, you can experience the magnificence of "Hula Hana" here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UlT35Ote09c. And if you have seen the movie, don't you want to relive the magic? Rachel sings it better, of course, but you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. (I've had this song stuck in my head for days, by the way. Envy me.)
> 



	11. Chapter 11

There was a single stunned moment of silence after Rachel’s declaration, and then everything started happening very quickly.  
  
Blaine was interrupted from gaping by Mr. Kellerman’s voice. “Is that something that you’d be willing to swear to, Rachel? To the authorities, if necessary?”  
  
“Yes,” Rachel said, her voice quiet but strong. Hiram huffed and looked away.  
  
“Then I think we should move this discussion to my office,” Mr. Kellerman said. “Follow me, please.”  
  
They all stood, most of them sluggish and moving through shock, Rachel in small, controlled movements. Hiram, however, all but jumped to his feet. “I need to get some air,” he said, steadfastly refusing to look at any one of them until his eyes landed on his wife. “Shelby, you’ll make sure everything is taken care of?”  
  
Shelby nodded, her face solemn. “Of course. Come on, Blaine, Rachel,” she ordered. It was a voice Blaine had heard a hundred times if he’d heard it once, her no-nonsense voice, her  _sit up straight_ voice and  _don’t lift your chin when you sing, Blaine_ ,  _try it again_. Just like it had those hundred times before, it spurred him into action, and he straightened his spine and followed the short, strange procession out of the room. Mr. Kellerman led them down a hallway and up a set of stairs, then into a large office that should have been lovely with its view out a large window overlooking the lake. Instead, it was messy and stuffy and smelled like stale food. There were two chairs opposite a huge wooden desk; Blaine let Rachel and Shelby have them, choosing instead to lean against the wall while Jacob hovered behind his uncle’s shoulder, looking green around the gills.  
  
Mr. Kellerman pulled out a notepad and started asking Rachel questions. Thankfully, he didn’t have any reason to go into great detail about the night before — he asked Rachel when she’d arrived at Finn’s cabin ( _it can’t have been any earlier than eleven_ ) and when she’d left ( _just after sunrise_ ). She confirmed that Finn hadn’t left the room the entire time she was there. Then Mr. Kellerman mentioned Kurt, and Blaine’s ears perked up.  
  
“He was there when I arrived, but he left to give us some privacy so that we could, um, talk,” Rachel explained, pinking a bit. “He didn’t come back.”  
  
 _He came to see me_ , Blaine realized, remembering Kurt’s unexpected appearance on the lawn, the way he’d been just a little cagey about telling Blaine why he was there. It made Blaine uneasy now, the sudden understanding that Kurt had known where Rachel was the whole time, and he didn’t know what to think about it. Of course, it wasn’t Kurt’s responsibility to look out for Rachel, and he might have thought that it wasn’t his place to interfere.  
  
When he turned his attention back to the conversation at hand, Mr. Kellerman had moved on to questioning Rachel about the day that she and Blaine had helped Mrs. Schumacher pick up her collection of wallets. She answered everything honestly, and Blaine related what he remembered too, deciding that there was no harm in telling the truth.  
  
After Blaine had finished sharing his recollection of the contents of Mrs. Schumacher’s purse, Mr. Kellerman ushered them all into the hallway. “I need to speak to Jacob for a few minutes, and I’m going to type up a few notes, which I’d like you to review and sign. You can wait in the office across the hall, if you’d like.”  
  
Rachel hurried gratefully from the room and beelined into the empty office, collapsing into a chair. Blaine joined her, but Shelby lingered in the doorway. “I’m going to go see if I can find a glass of water for us to drink,” she said. “I think it would do us all good. You’ll wait here?”  
  
Blaine replied when Rachel stayed silent. “We will.”  
  
Shelby hesitated again before leaving. “Rachel,” she finally said, waiting until her daughter raised her head. “You’re doing the right thing.”  
  
Rachel nodded sadly. “Thanks, Mom,” she whispered. Shelby gave her a wan smile and left.  
  
As soon as they were alone, Rachel dropped her elbows to her knees and buried her face in her hands. “This is a nightmare,” she moaned.  
  
Blaine reached over to give her shoulder a brief squeeze. “Shelby’s right. It’s a good thing you’re doing. You could have kept it to yourself and let them blame Finn.”  
  
That brought Rachel’s head up abruptly. “I would never do that! I couldn’t. Not to him,” she declared before slumping back down in her seat. “Daddy is never going to speak to me again.”  
  
“Of course he will,” Blaine reassured her. “He just needs a little time to get over the shock.”  
  
“He will,” Rachel said, “because  _I’m_ going to talk to  _him_ , so he won’t have any choice.” Blaine smiled a little — that sounded more like the Rachel he was used to. She was watching him carefully. “ _You’re_  talking to me,” she observed.  
  
“Why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
“Aren’t you mad at me?” she asked, her voice shrinking a bit.  
  
Blaine sighed. “I’m not mad, exactly.” He was surprised to find that it was true. Knowing that Rachel had spent the night with Finn seemed far less dreadful when compared to the prospect of her choosing Noah instead. Besides, Blaine didn’t have a leg to stand on anymore when it came to the issue of chastity. “But I am confused,” he continued. “Rachel, yesterday afternoon you were talking about  _Noah_. What happened?”  
  
Rachel dropped her gaze back to her hands, which started twisting together. “Well — you remember what I said I was going to do?”  
  
“Yes,” Blaine said, unable to keep the frown from his face or his voice.  
  
“I thought I was still — going to do that,” she admitted. “I got all dolled up and I snuck out as soon as everyone went to bed. I — oh, I’m so stupid.”  
  
And Blaine couldn’t have her saying that, even if he wasn’t completely in disagreement. “Rachel, it’s not stupid to —”  
  
“No,” she interrupted. “I don’t mean…” She took a deep breath. “I went all the way up to the door of his cabin. I knocked, and there was no answer. So I went to open the door. There was a towel on the handle, but I didn’t know what it  _meant_ , and when I opened it…” She scrunched up her face. “He wasn’t alone. Terri Schuester was there. In his bed. With him.”  
  
Blaine blanched. “Oh.”  
  
“I didn’t know what to do. So I just — closed the door and ran. To Finn’s cabin.”  
  
“Oh,” Blaine repeated.  
  
“I never really cared about Noah,” she continued. “I think I was just trying to make myself feel better. Or make Finn jealous. Or both.”  
  
“Rachel…” Blaine began, but he was interrupted by Shelby reappearing at the door, carrying two glasses, which effectively ended their conversation. They split the water between them while waiting in silence. It wasn’t long before Mr. Kellerman emerged. He shooed Jacob away down the hall on an errand and invited Blaine and Rachel back into his office, presenting each of them with a typewritten page to review and sign.  
  
While Blaine scrawled across the bottom of his statement, Mr. Kellerman cleared his throat and spoke up. “Rachel, I’m afraid that in light of recent developments, I must ask you to step down from your spot in the talent show.”  
  
Blaine glanced up to find Rachel eying Mr. Kellerman coolly. “Oh, that’s a relief,” she said. “I was going to ask Jacob if I could be replaced with my understudy. I just can’t seem to shake this hay fever.”  
  
“Good, then it’s all settled,” Mr. Kellerman replied. Blaine couldn’t help but bite back a grin as he shoved his signed paper back across the desk. A few minutes later, his family was back out in the hall while Mr. Kellerman closed his door with a heavy finality.  
  
Once they were dismissed, Rachel turned to the others. “I’m going to go find Daddy,” she announced, tipping her chin up. She accepted hugs from them both and then marched down the hall, looking tired but defiant.  
  
“What about you, sweetheart?” Shelby asked. “Do you want to go back to the cabin?”  
  
Blaine shook his head. “No, I think I’m going to take a walk. Clear my head.”  
  
“All right,” Shelby said. She hugged him too and even kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you later.”  
  
“See you later,” he said.  
  
He had to find Kurt.

\- / / -

Moving as fast as he could without arousing suspicion, Blaine looked everywhere he could think of — the dance studio, Kurt’s cabin, and Quinn’s room — but Kurt wasn’t in any of them. He inquired with a few other members of the staff, and he even went to the main staff cabin, but it was completely empty. Frustrated, he flopped down on a couch, trying to figure out where else he could check.  
  
Blaine didn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knew, he was slumped over the arm of the couch and Kurt was shaking him awake, exclaiming, “Blaine! I have been looking for you  _everywhere_.”  
  
“What?” Blaine asked groggily. He couldn’t even remember closing his eyes, but it was true that he hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately. He shook his head a little. “Kurt! Did they —”  
  
“They arrested the Schumachers,” Kurt interrupted him. “They fingerprinted their water glasses, and it turns out they’re wanted in three states. They made a killing here this summer.”  
  
“That’s great!” Blaine said as he pushed himself to his feet. “That’s…” His words died in his throat as Kurt stepped back, avoiding the hand that Blaine put out to reach for him. It was then that he noticed then the way that Kurt was standing, his arms clutched across his stomach, his head and his eyes turned down and away.  
  
“We’re out, Blaine,” he said quietly.  
  
“…out?” Blaine asked.  
  
“Finn was fired.”  
  
The words hung heavily in the air; Blaine couldn’t take them in because they made no sense. If they had proved that Finn didn’t steal the wallet, then Mr. Kellerman would have no reason to — unless — “They fired him anyway because of Rachel,” Blaine surmised.  
  
“And if we leave quietly, we’ll still get our summer bonus,” Kurt said sourly. “It’s really me he wants to get rid of, and I guess he finally found a way to do it. There’s no way I’m sticking around if Finn isn’t here.”  
  
The words hit Blaine like a slap, and he couldn’t help the little voice inside him that asked  _not even if I’m here_? But that wasn’t fair. Blaine would be gone by the end of the week, and Kurt hated Kellerman’s. Of course he wouldn’t hang around for the rest of the summer. “When are you leaving?” Blaine asked, his voice coming out pinched.  
  
“This afternoon.”  
  
It was another blow. “So soon?” Blaine gasped.  
  
“Soon?” Kurt sounded incredulous. “We’re lucky he gave us time to pack.”  
  
“So…” Blaine said dully. “This is it.” He’d tried so hard to stop counting, because he didn’t want to think about how many days there were until  _the last time_  — the last touch, the last kiss, the last words they exchanged — but it didn’t matter. This was the last time. In so many ways, the last time had already happened.  
  
“This is it,” Kurt confirmed.  
  
Blaine felt numb, inside and out, like the moment between being burned and feeling the sting. He looked across at Kurt, still there, but already partially gone, not touching him and retreating back behind walls that Blaine hadn’t seen in weeks. It couldn’t  _be_. He couldn’t  _do that_. Blaine still had so many things to say, so many thoughts and feelings that he didn’t know how to put into words yet. He wanted to tell Kurt how much this meant, that knowing him was one of the most important  _good_ things that had ever happened to him, he wanted to ask Kurt if he ever still thought about moving to New York, or if he always thought that this would just end. “But… there are so many things I wanted to talk to you about,” he finally said, the words not adequate.  
  
Even so, they seemed to have some impact. Kurt sighed and his face started to soften, taking on a look that was more pained than distant. “I know.”  
  
Because there was no time left anymore, none at all, Blaine blurted out, “I wanted to talk to you about New York.”  
  
“Blaine…” Kurt said, shifting on his feet. “New York is just — a pipe dream for me now.”  
  
“But why?” Blaine breathed. He was almost whining, but he couldn’t make himself stop.  
  
“My family, Blaine… I can’t…” Kurt took a deep breath. “I work at my dad’s garage when I’m at home, and I pick up odd jobs on the side. And when I’m not there, I send as much money as I can back home. We both do. But there wasn’t as much money to send this summer, because of Quinn. I need to make up for it somehow.”  
  
“So, they have jobs in New York. Probably lots of them. And for someone who can sing and dance…” Blaine felt reckless and desperate, but he couldn’t keep talking when Kurt looked like that — like every word out of Blaine’s mouth hurt him more than the last.  
  
Kurt reached up and briefly touched his face, his hair, his neck, looking everywhere but at Blaine. “I can’t just  _make_ a decision like that. Not just — out of the blue, while I’m just  _standing here_. I would need time…”  
  
Time — the thing that they didn’t have, only a few precious minutes like pearls, and Blaine didn’t want to spend them making Kurt feel any more miserable. He took a deep breath, feeling it shudder and catch as he relented. “Let me know if you ever do?” For four years at least, Kurt would know where to find him. His eyes stung.  
  
“Of course,” Kurt said softly. “If you think you would still want to know.”  
  
“I will.”  
  
Their eyes met then, finally locked and held, and Blaine tossed himself forward. Kurt met him, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s shoulders while Blaine tucked his face in against Kurt’s neck and started to cry. He wanted to remember everything, and he cataloged it as rapidly as he could — the way Kurt smelled and the perfect way he fit into all of Kurt’s hollows, the curve of his cheek against the place where Kurt’s neck met his shoulder, his arms around the dips of Kurt’s waist. He tried to lock it all into memory as tightly as he held on, like he was trying to squeeze Kurt’s breath out. The worst part was knowing that it would fade, no matter how hard he tried to hold tight, just like the exact sound of his mother’s laugh and his father’s voice.  
  
Blaine kept his arms wrapped around Kurt as he pulled back to put his hands on Blaine’s wet face and bring their mouths together for one last kiss, hard and longing. Blaine responded with abandon, with fervor, because there was no use in holding anything back. There was nothing to save it for.  
  
When Kurt broke away, he moved his hands to Blaine’s shoulders, gently pushing him back to arm’s length. His eyes were downcast, his cheeks pink. “Get Rachel,” he said, his voice thin. “Bring her to the staff parking lot in an hour.”  
  
He tried to leave, but Blaine caught one of his elbows and dragged him back, kissing him again with a hand around the back of Kurt's neck, because this really was the very last time — the last kiss and the last time he would ever see Kurt alone.  
  
Then Kurt made a choking noise and wrenched himself back. Blaine caught one glimpse of his tortured face before he spun, wrapping his arms tight around his middle and walking away fast.  
  
Blaine’s hands dropped back to his sides. The door swung shut and he was alone.

\- / / -

After Kurt left, Blaine stayed in the staff cabin for several minutes, trying to compose himself. He stood where Kurt had left him, almost motionless from shock except for the way the muscles in his face were twitching and working, but everything inside him was whirling, rushing, even screaming. He was surprised to find that there was a vast difference between standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that you had to jump off and being shoved unsuspectingly over the edge, freefalling before you even realized your feet had left the ground.  
  
It was hard to leave, knowing that everything was different on the other side of the door. Logically, he knew it wasn’t really, but he wouldn’t have been at all surprised to walk outside and find something drastic — the trees all burned down or a wrong-colored sky. When all he saw was the same vibrant blue and lush greenery he’d left, it somehow made everything worse. Because that meant the change was just inside himself.  
  
Blaine struggled to keep a neutral expression as he stumbled his way back to the Berrys’ cabin. When he was still several yards away, he was shocked to see Finn mounting the porch steps. Blaine hurried over, but before he got close enough to say anything, Finn was knocking at the door. It swung open to reveal Hiram, his face calm and set, his eyes furious.  
  
“Dr. Berry, can I, uh — I’m going anyway, so I just wanted to —” Finn started, reaching up with one hand to absently rub the back of his neck as he shied back a little in the face of Hiram’s anger. “I know what you must be thinking.”  
  
“You don’t know anything about me,” Hiram said evenly.  
  
“I know that you love Rachel,” Finn said, “and that you want her to be happy. And successful.”  
  
“Neither of which she will be if she spends time associating with people like you.”  
  
Blaine saw clearly the moment when Finn started to bristle. “Like me?” he challenged.  
  
“The kind of person who got his partner in trouble,” Hiram explained, his voice hard as the face of a stone cliff. “And then sent her off to a butcher while he moved on to an innocent girl.”  
  
Blaine inhaled sharply, his eyes flying back to Finn to see how he’d react, ready to charge up onto the porch between them if need be.  
  
But instead of retaliating, Finn seemed to deflate. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess that’s what you would see.” He jammed his sunglasses back onto his face and turned away without another word, barely glancing over when he passed the spot where Blaine stood frozen in the yard. Blaine stared after him for a moment and then rushed to the cabin. When he pulled open the door, Hiram was disappearing into his room and Rachel was standing near the rocking chair, wringing her hands.  
  
“Blaine, what’s happening?” she whispered.  
  
Blaine glanced over at Hiram’s closed door and spoke loudly. “Why don’t we take a walk down to the lake? I’ll explain everything.”  
  
Rachel looked confused and scared, and Blaine wished that he didn’t have to be the one to tell her. He wanted to just wrap an arm around her shoulders and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but not a single thing felt okay to him. He knew that she was going to be every bit as heartbroken as he was, whether it was fair or not.  
  
Outside, Blaine first steered Rachel in the direction of the lake, just in case Hiram was watching and because they had some time before they needed to meet the others. Rachel pounced on him immediately. “Blaine, what’s going on? You disappeared and Daddy just kept telling me not to worry, that everything was taken care of.”  
  
Blaine took a deep breath. He held out his arm to Rachel, and when she took it, he folded his hand over hers. “Mr. Kellerman fired Finn,” he said. “He has to leave this afternoon, and Kurt is going with him.” His voice started to waver on Kurt’s name, but he forced himself to keep going. “I would imagine that Quinn is leaving too. Finn wants to meet you in the staff parking lot to say good-bye.”  
  
Rachel stopped walking, tugging Blaine’s arm to keep him in place. “They’re leaving?” she whispered, staring up at him with huge eyes that grew shiny as he watched. “Today? Now?”  
  
Feeling an answering prickle behind his own eyes, Blaine started walking again so that he could turn his face away. “Come on,” he said quietly. “We don’t want Hiram to be suspicious. And yes, they are, so we have to go say good-bye.”  
  
As they continued toward the lake, Rachel tucked herself in tight beside him, her head bowed and her hand tight on the inside of his elbow. Blaine kept himself stoic, but he squeezed her hand tight in between his arm and his side, trying to comfort the both of them. They walked all the way to the edge of the beach, along its edge, and then Blaine turned them toward the staff area.  
  
Rachel detached herself from Blaine as soon as they reached the parking lot, running across the last few steps that separated her from Finn, launching herself into his arms, and burying her face in his shirt. Blaine looked away, trying to give them some privacy and purposefully turning in the opposite direction from where Kurt was standing. He started out staring at the ground, but raised his head after a moment to the bright afternoon sky, with the thought that he could blame any irritation in his eyes on the sun.  
  
He was startled to hear footsteps moving in his direction, and looked back down to see Quinn, squinting and smiling. “Hey,” she said.  
  
Blaine forced the corner of his lips up, hoping it didn’t look too much like a grimace. “Hi. So, you’re taking off too?” he asked, even though the answer was obvious.  
  
Quinn glanced over her shoulder, and then back. “These guys are my family now.”  
  
“I’m glad you all have each other,” Blaine said honestly, and he really was — he just wished that he had them too.  
  
“I’m glad that I got a chance to get to know you,” Quinn responded. “And I can never thank you enough.”  
  
Blaine shook his head. “Please don’t thank me for that. I had no idea —”  
  
“Blaine,” she interjected. “We’ve been over that. I know. So let me thank you for doing the brave thing and getting your uncle to help me. Without him, I don’t know what would have happened.” Her eyes were a little misty when she finished speaking, and Blaine had all the excuse he would need for his eyes to be damp.  
  
“In that case, you’re welcome,” he said, and Quinn stepped forward to hug him.  
  
“Good luck in New York,” she whispered in his ear.  
  
He squeezed a little tighter. “Thanks. I’m glad I got to know you too.”  
  
Quinn pulled back and raised one hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “I think I need to go sit down. I keep thinking I’m completely better, but then I spend an hour lugging suitcases around on a hot day and I realize it’s not quite true.”  
  
“Well, I hope you feel completely better soon.”  
  
“Oh, you can’t keep me down for long,” she said confidently. “Bye, Blaine.”  
  
Blaine smiled at her, and found that it was genuine, though small. “Good-bye, Quinn.”  
  
She returned to the car, where Kurt held the door open as she crawled into the back seat. He shut it gently while she settled in, and then turned to look at Blaine, who dropped his gaze immediately back down to the dirt. Kurt approached him slowly, stopping only when they stood side by side, facing the trees instead of Finn and Rachel or each other.  
  
There was a long moment of silence, and everything faded to the background except the warm weight of the sun on his shoulders, the gentle way the breeze moved the tree limbs, and the knowledge that Kurt was there, right beside him, close enough to touch but completely untouchable, and thinking of him too. Blaine sucked in deep breath and said, “I’ll never regret it.”  
  
Out of the corner of his vision, he saw the corner of Kurt’s mouth turn up. “Me neither.”  
  
Blaine turned his face toward Kurt then, his eyes filling as Kurt looked back. He thought that Kurt’s eyes looked unnaturally bright too, and they stared until they couldn’t anymore, and Kurt had to turn away, walk back to the car. Blaine turned back to the trees, allowing his face to fall, just for a second, closing his eyes and tracing over the lines of Kurt’s face again and again, etching them in deep. He didn’t even have a photograph.  
  
The sound of a car door opening made him turn. Kurt was poised to climb into the passenger seat. He said something quietly to Finn, who was still petting Rachel’s back and kissing her forehead, and then he looked across the top of the car at Blaine. His mouth twitched like he was trying to smile, but all too quickly, he ducked inside the car and was gone. Finn disengaged from Rachel and climbed behind the wheel.  
  
Rachel hurried to Blaine, her face blotchy and damp as she latched her arms around his middle, still facing the car as it roared to life. Blaine squeezed her shoulders, which shook under his hand. They stood together as the car pulled out of the parking lot, trailing dust, watching until it disappeared behind the trees and all the dirt had blown away or settled back to the ground, Rachel weeping openly and Blaine’s face so frozen in place that he felt like it would crack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Note:** (story originally posted spring 2012; links may no longer be active)
> 
>   * Not exactly a historical note, but like Johnny, Finn drives a 1957 Chevy Bel Air. Pictures here: http://www.imcdb.org/vehicle_6399-Chevrolet-Bel-Air-1957.html and here: http://www.imcdb.org/vehicle_6964-Ford-Fairlane-Crown-Victoria-64A-1956.html.
> 



	12. Chapter 12

The next few days were the worst Blaine could remember since the black weeks after he lost his parents. Perhaps the pain was duller, but he felt the emptiness like an echo, the helplessness and the all-too-familiar way his footing had been yanked away from him, leaving him stumbling.   
  
Even though he didn’t have cause to go to the places that reminded him strongly of Kurt — the dance studio, the boathouse, the staff quarters — he told himself that he was avoiding them, giving them wide berth on purpose. It didn’t matter; he felt Kurt’s absence everywhere, even when it didn’t make sense, like at meals, when he found himself restlessly scanning the dining room.  
  
When he opened his eyes in the morning after a fitful night of sleep, it made the whole resort seem empty around him to know that Kurt wasn’t waking up a few hundred feet away. He wondered if Kurt was back in Ohio. He hadn’t asked because there hadn’t been time and he didn’t want to know. If going home would bring him closer to Kurt, it would have been a daily struggle not to climb into the car and drive until he found Kurt himself. He didn’t want to know if leaving for New York would take him farther away again.   
  
Blaine found that it was hard to think about New York at all. The decisions he had to make now were the same ones he’d faced before, but they seemed so much bleaker now — marry a nice girl and live a lie, spend his days alone, or, now, try to find another man. Blaine scoffed at the idea of trying to find someone else. Everything with Kurt had fallen so easily into place, like two leaves drifting to the ground to land on top of each other. He didn’t have the first clue about how to find anyone else. When he tried to imagine it — another man’s kiss, another man’s touch, another man’s hand in his — he rejected the idea outright. He didn’t want those things with some stranger. He wanted them with Kurt.   
  
He found himself watching Rachel jealously. She was allowed to spend hours shut into her room only to appear with red eyes and a grim face, wearing her heartache like a badge. When Hiram and Shelby asked him why he was so quiet, Blaine mumbled vaguely about feeling bad for Rachel, and it was all such a lie that sometimes he felt like he wanted to explode.  
  
Blaine thought that his resentment might have been unfair — after all, Rachel was hurting too — but that didn’t stop him from giving her a lukewarm reception when she knocked cautiously on his door during the afternoon on the day before the talent show. He was flat on his back on the bed, staring at the ceiling with an unopened book beside him.  
  
“Come in,” he said listlessly when Rachel peeked into the room, and she did, sliding the door shut behind her and leaning against it. Blaine managed to pull himself into a sitting position.  
  
“Hi,” she said.  
  
“Hi, Rach,” Blaine answered dully. “What can I do for you?”  
  
“Nothing.” Her forehead was wrinkled as she watched him. “Is everything okay?”  
  
Blaine started to turn away again. “Fine.”  
  
“Do you miss him?”  
  
Every muscle in Blaine’s body went rigid as he brought his eyes back to Rachel. “Who?” he asked tightly.  
  
There was sincere concern written all over her face. “Kurt,” she said haltingly. “He was — special? To you?”  
  
Blaine was fairly sure that his heart had stopped beating. His breath came in measured gasps as he sputtered out, “I — I don’t —”  
  
“It’s okay,” Rachel blurted out. She took a half step forward, her gaze pleading.  
  
There was a long moment before Blaine collected himself enough to force out a few thin words. “It doesn’t… bother you?”  
  
Rachel shook her head, and Blaine could see that she was trying not to cry. There was wetness already gathering at the corners of his own eyes, and Rachel swiftly crossed the room and perched beside him on the bed.  
  
“How…?” Blaine whispered.  
  
“You’ve been my best friend for four years,” she said. “I know I can be a little self-centered, but I’m not completely unobservant. Why do you think I stopped setting you up with my friends?”  
  
Blaine thought that he was supposed to laugh at that. His lips twitched, but a sob escaped instead, and before he knew it, he was crumpling against Rachel’s side. Her arms went around him and he was crying in earnest, shaking out not just the past two days, but years of stress and secrecy and loneliness.  
  
Rachel made shushing sounds while she rubbed his arm. “We’re going to get through this, Blaine,” she said. Her voice was choked but determined. “We’re going to get through this and go to New York, and we’re going to be amazing. I know it.”  
  
Blaine just held on tight, wishing he shared the same conviction. 

\- / / -  
 

Somehow, even though he’d seen the talent show over and over again in rehearsals, first in snippets and then in its entirety, Blaine found watching the actual performance interminable. He didn’t want to pay attention, but any time his mind wandered, it went directly to Kurt, and the gnawing ache started up in his chest again. It made for a very long evening.  
  
To his shock, the audience seemed to be enjoying the show, and even Hiram and Shelby were laughing and clapping in a way that went beyond basic politeness. Blaine couldn’t bring himself to force even the smallest of smiles, but he did lift his hands for a few rounds of half-hearted applause. Rachel was even less enthusiastic and stayed motionless in the chair she’d wedged back against one of the columns that lined the room, her arms crossed over her chest.  
  
The only thing of interest to come out of the evening so far had happened when Noah had wandered by their table. Hiram had jumped up to draw him aside, pulling him partially behind the column. Blaine had furtively tilted his head to try and listen.  
  
“…just wanted to give you a little something to help out with life in New York,” his uncle was saying, and Blaine pretended to look across the room. He saw Hiram draw an envelope out of his pocket and extend it to Noah.  
  
“Wow, thanks, Dr. Berry,” Noah said, “and hey, thanks for the help with the Quinn situation too. I guess we’ve all gotten into messes before, right?”  
  
“What?” Hiram asked blankly.  
  
“Oh… I thought they would have told you. Look, I’m not sure. You know how it is with girls like that. They’re liable to pin it on any guy in the place.”  
  
Hiram snatched the envelope back without another word. He returned to his seat, looking flustered, while Noah slunk away.  
  
Things went right back to being tedious after that.  
  
Thankfully, the scripted portion of the talent show was finally drawing to a close, and the performers were lining up to sing the last song of the evening, which turned out to be a hackneyed song about Kellerman’s itself. It went on for verse after verse, while the singers urged the audience to join in on the chorus about  _voices, hearts, and hands_. By the third time through, many of the guests were singing along, which may have been why Blaine barely noticed the surprised murmur that ran through the entertainment staff members who were hovering in the back of the room. He wasn’t aware of anything out of the ordinary until a tall figure loomed next to their table, and they all looked up to see Finn Hudson standing there. His eyes swept each of their faces, and then fixed on Rachel, who Blaine heard gasp behind him.  
  
“Nobody puts Berry in a corner,” Finn said, extending a hand to her. “Come on.”  
  
Rachel jumped up immediately, sliding behind Blaine’s chair and following Finn with scarcely a glance back at her parents. Hiram started to climb to his feet, looking furious, but much to Blaine’s surprise, Shelby reached across the table to stay him with nothing more than a touch and a warning look. Blaine turned away to watch round-eyed as Finn and Rachel climbed the stairs at the side of the stage. The singing faltered and then died, and even Mr. Kellerman watched in shock when Finn approached the microphone.  
  
“Sorry about the interruption,” he said awkwardly, his voice echoing too loudly throughout the room before he shifted back. Rachel clung to his hand, looking small and scared and thrilled all at once. “I, uh, I always do the last dance of the season, and this year, someone told me not to. But this summer, I met someone who taught me that you should stand up for other people, no matter what it costs. She’s someone who deserves to have me stand up for her, and she deserves a chance to shine like the star that she is. Ladies and gentlemen, my partner, Miss Rachel Berry.” He glanced down at Rachel fondly, and she beamed out at the audience.  
  
“Sit  _down_ , Hiram,” Shelby hissed suddenly, and Blaine saw that he was halfway out of his seat again. He sank slowly back into it and folded his arms.  
  
Finn retreated offstage for a moment, reappearing as an unfamiliar song started playing over the speakers. He and Rachel started the same dance that Blaine had watched them learn weeks ago, the one that had started everything, and as the song’s instrumentation began — sounding unlike anything Blaine had ever heard — Finn spun Rachel out, the skirt of her pink party dress twirling around her. Shelby leaned across the table, her eyes sparkling as she commented, “I think she gets this from me.” Hiram sighed and shot her an amused look, some of the tension going out of his posture.  
  
The audience got more and more excited as the dance ramped up, clapping and even giving the occasional whistle or cheer. One particularly raucous female catcall from the back of the room made Blaine turn, and then everything froze and muted and blurred.  
  
Because Kurt was there.  
  
He was standing tall and straight among his friends from the staff, watching the dance with an appraising eye. There was a tiny smile playing around his lips, which grew when he flicked his gaze to Blaine, just for a second.  
  
Blaine forced himself to turn back to the front, knowing that he couldn’t stare, even if it was unlikely that anyone else would notice with the spectacle currently taking place on the stage. He wasn’t really seeing it anymore himself — it was all just a flurry of motion and color through his dazed eyes, and he barely registered when Rachel actually succeeded in doing the lift that had given her so much trouble before. His heart was beating in his chest like it was trying to find a way out. Kurt was  _here_.  
  
A burst of enthusiastic applause and cheers shocked Blaine out of his reverie. He looked up to find Rachel and Finn hugging, and then all at once everyone was on their feet, moving chairs and starting to dance. Shelby even pulled Hiram out to the floor, and Blaine shooed them away, sensing his opportunity. When his aunt and uncle had been swallowed by the crowd, Blaine stood and made his way quickly toward the back of the room.  
  
Kurt was still standing where he’d been when Blaine first spotted him, even though everyone else who’d surrounded him earlier had taken eagerly to the dance floor. As soon as he caught sight of Blaine, Kurt smiled, gave a little nod, and slipped out through one of the doors behind him. Blaine forced himself not to break into a run, to measure his footsteps and follow at a distance, taking a quick glance around before he exited to make sure that no one he knew was watching.  
  
As he eased the door shut behind him, he saw Kurt’s back disappearing around a corner. Blaine followed, and even though he tried to keep his pace relaxed, he knew that he was walking faster. He couldn’t help it; there was so much excitement buzzing in his veins that he was lucky he wasn’t _flying_ down the hallway or jittering apart into nervous dust on the floor. It was just — when he turned the corner Kurt was going to be  _right there_.  
  
He was right there.  
  
“Kurt,” Blaine breathed, unexpectedly rooted to the spot after rounding the corner and finding Kurt watching him, his smile sincere and wavering and his eyes bright. Blaine had been so startled, so gobsmacked and bowled over by the very sight of him, that he hadn’t even noticed Kurt’s clothes. Gone were the plain cotton t-shirts and the dark denim jeans, which had been replaced by a suit that set him apart from everyone else in the building — the pants were narrow and the jacket trimly cut with thin lapels. Blaine could have looked at him forever.  
  
Instead, he barreled forward, letting Kurt catch him in a tight grip as he squeaked out, “Hi, Blaine.” Blaine just clamped his own arms around Kurt, his breath shuddering out and something inside of him that he thought would be knotted up tight forever uncoiling for the first time in days.  
  
Blaine didn’t know how long it was before their arms started to slacken, but when they did, he leaned in to kiss Kurt, once, twice, a third time that lingered. Kurt tasted like mint and himself, and he allowed the kisses, but then moved back, gently pushing Blaine away. “We can’t do that here,” he said, sounding reluctant.  
  
“I know,” Blaine breathed, opening his eyes to look into Kurt’s, which seemed even more watery than before. “I’m just so happy to see you. I thought I would never see you again. What are you doing here?”  
  
Kurt’s grin turned a little impish. “Well, Finn was insistent on doing that dance,” he said with a shrug, and then he turned more serious. “And I wanted to tell you something.”  
  
“What is it?” Blaine asked, his voice coming out a bit breathless.  
  
“I made a decision about something.”  
  
Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Tell me?”  
  
Watching him carefully, Kurt sucked in a deep breath. “I think it’s time I gave New York a try.”  
  
For a moment, Blaine was dumbstruck. “You mean it?”  
  
Kurt nodded. “Quinn has a friend who’s going to let me rent a room in her apartment. I’m going to —” He was cut off unceremoniously as Blaine grabbed him again, hugging him so hard that Kurt sounded strangled as he let out an admonishing “ _Blaine_!” Undeterred, Blaine squeezed harder, letting out a joyful noise against Kurt’s neck even though his eyes were filling up. He had that feeling again, the overwhelming incredulity that this just  _couldn’t be_ , only this time, he couldn’t believe that the thing he wanted most in the world was actually going to happen.  
  
Once again, Kurt disentangled himself first, laughing. Blaine grudgingly moved away, running one hand down Kurt’s arm until he was holding onto the side of his hand. Kurt returned the pressure, and that was how they were standing, beaming at each other, when the figure of a man turned the corner.  
  
Blaine’s heart leapt in alarm, and he turned his head to look into the startled eyes of his uncle.  
  
“Oh shit,” Kurt said quietly, his voice panicked. “Oh no, oh no, shit,  _Blaine_ …” He tried to tug his hand back, but Blaine’s fingers tightened instinctively.  
  
“No,” Blaine whispered.  
  
“Blaine,  _let go._ ” Kurt pulled harder.  
  
Blaine looked back at him. “No, it’s okay,” he said, keeping his voice low. Kurt froze, confusion and fear warring on his face. Turning back to Hiram, who had started to walk slowly toward them, Blaine called out, “Hello.”  
  
“Hello, boys,” Hiram said. His voice lacked its usual cheerfulness, and he was watching Blaine with a serious, concerned expression.  
  
“Hiram,” Blaine said, barely getting the word out. He cleared his throat and made himself continue. “Have you met Kurt Hummel? Kurt was one of the dance instructors here. He’s Finn’s stepbrother.”  
  
A hint of understanding dawned on Hiram’s face, and he turned to give Kurt a brief nod. “Nice to meet you,” he said.  
  
“Hello,” Kurt replied faintly. All the color seemed to be drained from his skin, and he had switched over to clutching Blaine’s hand like a lifeline.  
  
“You must be the reason that my nephew has been walking around looking like someone told him  _Howdy Doody_  was cancelled,” Hiram commented.  
  
Blaine gaped. His uncle was going to make jokes at a time like this? “ _Hiram_ ,” he hissed.  
  
Despite his teasing, Hiram’s expression remained somber when he addressed Blaine again. “Your aunt and I were concerned because you seemed to have disappeared. I think that you and I should have a very serious conversation later, but in the meantime, I’ll let her know that you’ll be back in five minutes. Does that sound fair?”  
  
“Yes,” Blaine said, and it sounded more like a sigh of relief than an actual word.  
  
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Kurt,” Hiram added, and then he left them alone again.  
  
As soon as he disappeared, Kurt let go of Blaine’s hand and slumped against the wall, rubbing his face. “What just happened?”  
  
“It’s okay,” Blaine said again. Perhaps it wasn’t the most reassuring of platitudes, but he felt shaky all over, like he might collapse at any second.  
  
“It’s  _okay_?” Kurt repeated, his voice high and nervous.  
  
Blaine moved to lean against the wall beside Kurt, very much afraid that his legs might not hold him up much longer. “He’s like us.”  
  
Kurt’s eyes widened. “Really?” At Blaine’s nod of confirmation, he continued. “Does he know that you know? Does he know about  _you_?”  
  
“Not before today,” Blaine said. “But I think those cats are pretty far out of the bag now.”  
  
“Do you think he’ll be mad?” Kurt asked quietly.  
  
“Maybe, if he finds out about all the times I snuck out. But I hope not about this.” Blaine dropped even more heavily against the wall and stared at the floor with wide eyes, his nerves multiplying exponentially the more he thought about what he’d just done.  
  
Kurt nudged his side. “Hey.”  
  
“Yeah?” Blaine glanced up at him, and just being able to see Kurt’s face at close proximity again was comforting.  
  
“Maybe it’ll help to have him know,” Kurt suggested, and his face was so earnest that Blaine wanted to hug him all over again.  
  
“Maybe,” Blaine said.  
  
Kurt gave him a little smile. “You should get back. Don’t give him any more reasons to be upset.”  
  
“Yeah,” Blaine agreed, but he didn’t move.  
  
Pushing himself away from the wall, Kurt swung around to stand in front of Blaine. He reached out to tug him up, one hand around his bicep, but let go as soon as Blaine was supporting his own weight. “What time are you leaving tomorrow?”  
  
“We have to be checked out by one, but it will probably be before that,” Blaine said. “Maybe sometime in the late morning. Will you still be here?”  
  
“Finn and I are staying here for the night, with friends. Do you think you could find your way back up to the bench by the old gazebo?” Blaine nodded. “Good. I’ll wait up there in the morning. Come when you can. I’ll wait until noon.”  
  
Blaine looked right into Kurt’s eyes, trying to project every ounce of sincerity he could when he said, “Kurt, I’m so happy. I never — I’m just so happy.”  
  
“Me too,” Kurt said. He peeked around Blaine at the empty hallway, pecked him once on the lips, and sent him on his way. If he hadn’t been so anxious about having to talk with Hiram, Blaine would have floated back to the auditorium. 

\- / / - 

Although they’d been preparing to leave for several days, the next morning was spent in a flurry of frenzied packing. Blaine was still on edge — to his surprise, Hiram hadn’t spoken to him again about Kurt the night before. The whole family had stayed in the main hall dancing for longer than Blaine had expected, and then they had all gone to bed shortly after an excited rehash of Rachel’s performance back at their cabin. They were up again early to eat breakfast with the first seating and finish their preparations to leave.  
  
Just as Blaine was jamming the last of his clothes into his suitcase, Hiram poked his head into the room with a knock on the doorframe. “Blaine, did you ever return your library book?”  
  
Blaine glanced over at the mystery novel, still unfinished, which he’d planned to leave where it was on the bedside table. “Nope,” he said.  
  
“I need to go up to the main house to drop something off for Max. Why don’t we walk together?”  
  
Blaine took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”  
  
Much to his surprise, Hiram talked only about mundane topics as they made their way toward the lodge — the weather, the drive, the scenery. When they’d disposed of their errands, however, he suggested, “Why don’t we walk down to the lake one last time?” There was no other choice. Blaine agreed.  
  
They ended up standing at one edge of the beach, the wind blowing fast around them and making the water lap up on the shore. There was no one around to hear when Hiram turned to Blaine and said, “So.”  
  
“So,” Blaine echoed.  
  
“What you did last night was very foolhardy,” Hiram said sternly. Blaine could feel himself going pale as he gave a few jerky nods of his head. “I hope you know that, and I hope that you would only choose to introduce Kurt to people that way if you had a very good reason to assume that it was safe to do so.”  
  
Blaine’s mouth and throat felt too dry, but he knew that Hiram was waiting for an explanation. “A couple of years ago, there was a field trip.” He cleared his throat and looked out at the lake, shining and blue beneath the mountain. “You had been called into the office, and Shelby was visiting her mother. I was looking for our permission slips in your desk, and I found a magazine.  _One_. And there was a note.”  
  
When he hazarded a glance back at his uncle, Hiram was nodding thoughtfully. “It was from Leroy,” he said.  
  
“It was from L,” Blaine clarified. “Who is he?” When there was no immediate answer, he started to babble. “I’m sorry. That was — I shouldn’t have ask-”  
  
“Leroy is the love of my life,” Hiram said, his voice cutting evenly across Blaine’s words.  
  
A thousand questions raced through Blaine’s mind at once, but he didn’t know if he could ask any of them, so all he said was, “Oh.”  
  
Hiram took a deep breath, angling his head up toward the sky for a moment. “We met about nine years ago. I was in Columbus for a conference. Several of us met for a drink in the hotel bar after one of the meetings ended, and he was playing the piano. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.”  
  
Blaine felt the ghost of a smile flit across his face — it was a feeling he could relate to — but he sobered almost instantly. “What about Shelby?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. His aunt wasn’t an affectionate type, but she’d never begrudged Blaine a place in her household. She’d pushed him as hard as she pushed Rachel, and he knew that meant that she cared about him in her own way. Blaine might not say it often, but he did love her, and it had always upset him terribly that she was being played for a fool. He looked down at his feet, wedging the tip of one shoe into the sand.  
  
“She knows,” Hiram said.  
  
Blaine’s head snapped back up. “She does?”  
  
“Shelby and I have been friends for a very long time, ever since we were children.” Blaine knew the story — how they’d played together as kids, how Hiram’s head had turned when Shelby started high school and all his friends asked him who the pretty new freshman was, how they’d almost missed their chance to be together because she’d fallen for someone else instead — but he couldn’t figure out now where the fact diverged from the fiction. “We know each other very well — probably better than anyone else. She knows about me, and I knew that she never wanted to be someone’s housewife.”  
  
“But… that’s exactly what she is,” Blaine said, his brow furrowing.  
  
“Not exactly,” Hiram replied. “Shelby always wanted to teach people how to sing and dance. We both wanted a child, and she knew that I would never make her give up her job when we had one. It’s worked out remarkably well, and I can assure you that there are worse things in life than being married to one of your best friends.”  
  
 _Like not being able to marry the person you actually love_ , Blaine filled in. “Oh,” he said again, and then he added, quietly, “I don’t know if I can do that.”  
  
“You don’t have to,” Hiram said. “Just because I chose something for my life doesn’t mean that you have to choose it for yours.”  
  
“That’s good,” Blaine said softly.  
  
“But whatever you decide, Blaine, I want you to know that I will still love you and support you.”  
  
The words swept over him like a surprise rainstorm, devastating but sustaining, wetting his eyes before he even caught up to his feelings. He’d been afraid that he was beyond ever hearing anything like them, and he watched Hiram tremulously.  
  
“You know that you’ve done some things this summer that I don’t approve of,” he continued, “but I still think the world of you, Blaine, and I hope you know now that you can always come to me to talk about things that are bothering you."  
  
“Thank you,” Blaine choked out.  
  
Hiram clapped his shoulder and squeezed it, and then a stern expression settled over his features. “I also want to make sure that you understand how important it is for you to be discreet.” When Blaine started to nod and speak, Hiram interrupted him. “I know that you  _think_  you understand, but I can’t stress enough how dangerous the world can be. There are people who will want to hurt you because of who you are — it’s not enough just to disagree with you. You could be arrested. Or worse.”  
  
Blaine’s mouth dropped shut and he nodded.  
  
“If you want to meet other men who are like you, I can help you find them. Safely. I don’t know how you and Kurt found each other, but I don’t want you to go out looking for adventure when you’re on your own.”  
  
“I don’t want adventure,” Blaine said, a giddy feeling bubbling up inside of him. “Kurt’s coming to New York.”  
  
Hiram’s eyebrows went up. “So this is serious.”  
  
“We’ve only known each other for a few weeks,” Blaine hedged, going back to scuffing his toe in the sand. “And he was going to move there some day anyway.”  
  
“But he’s going now because you’ll be there.”  
  
Blaine shrugged. His hands suddenly felt awkward at his sides, and he jammed them down into his pockets, biting back a grin.  
  
Hiram smiled at him fondly then. “Well, in that case, I hope you’ll both be very safe and very careful, and if either of you need to talk about anything, please come to me first.”  
  
“Thank you,” Blaine said again. He paused, struggling to find a way to express just how much it meant to him, his heart full to bursting with Hiram’s support and Rachel’s acceptance and the fact that Kurt had come back, but finally he just said, “This all means a lot to me. So much. Thank you.”  
  
Hiram reached for his shoulder again, but instead of stopping there, he pulled Blaine into a hug. 

\- / / - 

This goodbye was supposed to be easier.  
  
And it was, Blaine reasoned. He and Kurt had exchanged addresses and telephone numbers. They would both be in New York in less than two months, and they’d be in touch long before that. But the main problem was that he didn’t want to say goodbye at all.  
  
“So we won’t,” Kurt said breezily.  
  
It had been like stepping back in time when he’d arrived at the little clearing in the woods and seen Kurt looking down over the lake, clad in his usual t-shirt and jeans (”They’re more comfortable to travel in,” Kurt had explained when Blaine teased him). Hiram had excused Blaine for half an hour to say his farewells, but Blaine knew that his family had to get on the road soon — it was a long drive to Erie.  
  
Unfortunately, that left him only about fifteen minutes with Kurt, and they’d spent thirteen of them stealing kisses and making plans. Now the seconds are ticking down, and Blaine imagined that he could hear them, like there was a metronome hidden in the gazebo, and he wanted to find it and stop it, or at least slow it down. He was standing forehead-to-forehead with Kurt, their hands tangled together on either side of their bodies and their eyes closed.  
  
“You have to go,” Kurt was saying. “Your time’s almost up.”  
  
“I don’t want to,” Blaine mumbled in response. He leaned forward to capture Kurt’s lips for another few portioned-off seconds. “I have so many more things to say.”  
  
“I keep hearing about these  _things_ ,” Kurt said playfully, leaning back to look at Blaine, “but you never actually say them.”  
  
Blaine stared at Kurt, his cheeks flushed in the sunlight, his eyes sparkling. “Meeting you is one of the best things that ever happened to me,” he blurted. “You changed everything.”  
  
“Which one of us is moving hundreds of miles away?” Kurt asked, quirking an eyebrow.  
  
“Both of us!” Blaine shot back.  
  
Kurt smiled. “The feeling is definitely mutual. Now go on, shoo. The longer you stay here, the harder it is to let you go.”  
  
“Well, in that case…” Blaine said, tightening his grip around and between Kurt’s fingers.  
  
“Blaaaaine,” Kurt whined. “You have to go.”  
  
“I know.” But he still didn’t let go. Instead, he tugged Kurt forward and kissed him, harder than he meant to at first and then slow and deliberate, with every bit of passion he could muster, tasting and feeling with his lips and his tongue as the wind rushed all around them, knowing that it was the last time — for now.  
  
Reluctantly, Blaine broke away and stepped back, holding onto Kurt’s hands until he had to let them go. “Write me,” Kurt said. “Soon. Tell me more things.”  
  
“I will,” Blaine promised, because he fully expected to start a letter in the car. He opened his mouth, his throat already forming the  _g_ , but he quickly clamped it shut again when Kurt pointed an accusatory finger.  
  
“Don’t say it! I don’t want to say it,” he admonished.  
  
“Why do you think you know what I was going to say?”  
  
Kurt tilted his head. “Just a guess. Were you going to say something else?”  
  
Blaine paused, but finally said, “Just that I’ll miss you.”  
  
“I’ll miss you too.”  
  
They watched at each other for as long as they could, and as Blaine backed away, he tried to drink in every detail, from the curve of Kurt’s lips to the cleft in his chin to the width of his shoulders, from the length of his legs to the tips of his toes. He stared until Kurt mouthed the word “go,” and he forced himself to turn and walk away.  
  
Maybe there was more to say. Blaine wasn’t sure yet — maybe he’d find the courage to say it in a letter, or maybe he’d wait, holding the words like a precious treasure to his chest until he saw Kurt again.  
  
In forty-seven days.  
  
He finally had something he knew it would be worth counting down to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Notes:** (story originally posted spring 2012; links may no longer be active)
> 
>   * The song that is totally unfamiliar to Blaine with the strange instrumentation is, of course, "I've Had the Time of My Life" by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes. The music video is here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RH0lEVMuzzw. Why yes, I am poking fun at the anachronisms in the movie again.
>   * The outfit that I put Kurt in at the talent show is an homage to the British mod trend of the 1960s, which didn't really carry over to the US until the British Invasion that started in late 1963/early 1964 with the Beatles (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Beatles'_influence_on_popular_culture#Suits). This is me trying to make Kurt fashion forward.
>   * _Howdy Doody_ 's last show aired in 1960, and although Blaine wouldn't have admitted it at the time, it did make him sad.
> 



	13. Epilogue

Blaine looked up from his lunch when he heard a key in the lock. The door swung open to admit Kurt, followed closely by Ana-Maria, the neighbor’s daughter. She was carrying a towering stack of newspapers, which she dropped beside Blaine’s plate with a  _thump_ and a cheerful greeting. Always a ball of energy, she was halfway out of the room before he could say anything in return.  
  
“Thanks for the help, Ana,” Kurt said as she bustled past him and back through the door. “I’m glad I ran into you.”  
  
“No problem, Mr. Hummel!” she replied brightly, before popping her head back in. “Wait — or do I call you something different now?”  
  
Kurt’s face broke into a grin like he couldn’t help it if he tried. “It’s Mr. Hummel-Anderson now, if you want to be technical.” Blaine felt his own face light up in response.  
  
“You got to put your name first!” Ana exclaimed.  
  
“Because I’m older,” Kurt said with a wink.  
  
Ana laughed and disappeared again, her call of “see you later,  _Mr. Hummel-Anderson_!” trailing after her. Kurt closed and locked the door.  
  
Blaine dropped his fork back onto his empty plate and eyed the mountain of newspapers speculatively. “How many copies did you  _buy_?”  
  
“Enough,” Kurt said airily. “For starters, we’ll need at least five copies for ourselves, obviously.”  
  
“ _Five_?”  
  
Kurt swung the refrigerator door open and spoke into it as he started poking around. “Of course. One to frame for the wall, one for the album, one to archive, and one for each of us. Is there any of that chicken asado left?” He leaned around the door to raise his eyebrows at Blaine.  
  
Sheepishly, Blaine held up his plate. “Not anymore.”  
  
“Blaine,” Kurt said, his voice going mock-stern. “That’s grounds for divorce, you know.”  
  
“I’ll make some more this week,” Blaine promised. As odd as it was, the mention of divorce only made them beam at each other — because they could get one now, if they wanted.  
  
Kurt sighed and started pulling out lunch meat and vegetables instead. “I suppose I’ll call it off then.”  
  
“Good,” Blaine said, lifting the top newspaper from the pile to flip it open. “What are the rest of these for?”  
  
“Well, we’ll have to send one to Finn, of course, and Rachel, and I got enough copies for the kids. And Quinn.”  
  
“You know they can probably just look it up on the Internet. Or have someone else look it up for them.”  
  
Kurt scoffed. “Anyone can put their picture on the Internet, Blaine.  _Anyone_. This is our picture in the  _New York Times_. No one appreciates print media anymore.”  
  
“They certainly don’t,” Blaine mumbled, distracted now that he’d found the article he was looking for:  _After Long Wait, Same-Sex Couples Marry in New York_. He adjusted his glasses and scanned down the page until he found what he was looking for — their picture, Blaine sliding Kurt’s ring onto his finger while the justice of the peace smiled in the background. They looked as sharp as two men their age could, decked out in the new suits that Kurt had insisted they buy for the occasion. Blaine read the few lines of text below the photo.  
  
 _Kurt Hummel, 70, and Blaine Anderson, 67, didn’t mind waiting a few hours in line. The couple met 48 years ago this month, when Mr. Anderson’s family vacationed at a resort hotel in the Catskill Mountains where Mr. Hummel worked as a dance instructor. “I wish I could have married him decades ago,” Mr. Hummel said of his partner. “As it is, I consider myself exceptionally lucky to have met him at all. Honestly, if Blaine hadn’t been so nosy, we might have never gotten our acts together.”_  
  
 _“I’m not sure I’d use the word nosy,” Mr. Anderson added. “But it’s true that we would have missed out on a lifetime of friendship, support, and love. We both hope that today brings us closer to a world where no one will have to live without those things because they’re not allowed to say what they really feel.”_  
  
Blaine let his eyes linger over his own words again. He and Kurt had shared all of those things over the years, but it was more than just that — there had been struggle and heartbreak too, triumph and defeat. Sometimes he marveled that they hadn’t given up for good during the first few years, when they could hardly figure out what they could do and say and be to each other, which was  _everything_ and  _nothing at all_.  
  
It was even more amazing when he considered that he had been in the midst of the rigors of college and then law school at the same time, while Kurt was dealing with the frustration of rejection after rejection. On most days, Kurt picked himself back up and faced the next audition with grim determination, but there came times when the pills grew too bitter to swallow and he crashed under the waves of a heavy self-defeat.  
  
There were good times too. There was the quiet, rapturous joy of the first time they had gotten to wake up in a bed together, the sun lighting up their skin and their faces and their eyes blinking open. Even though it had been years, Blaine could still remember the way it was somehow more intimate than anything that had preceded it, the way that Kurt’s skin was flushed from the heat of both of them under the blanket and the tender vulnerability in his expression. There was the exaltation of Kurt’s first role onstage. He was just in the chorus, but Blaine was in the audience on opening night, his eyes shining, not paying a bit of attention to the main plot of the show. And if he whooped and whistled when the background players took their bow, well, no one would ever be able to tell just which one his enthusiasm was for.  
  
When they’d taken their first trip back to Ohio together, there was the first of many warm dinners with Hiram and Leroy at Leroy’s tiny house in Columbus. Blaine remembered his shock when they were first introduced and he saw that Hiram and Leroy’s relationship was different not just because they were homosexual, but also because Leroy was black. Something about it drove home just how much Hiram was risking by continuing their relationship. How much they were all risking.  
  
After that, there were other vacations, explorations of new places both near and far, the excitement only slightly tempered by the fact that, for most of their lives, they had to arrive and leave separately and pay for two hotel rooms while using only one. There was the revelation of watching Rachel and Finn raise their children to understand and accept that Uncle Kurt and Uncle Blaine were in love. It was enough to make them start hoping for a new generation, one that might see things through different eyes.  
  
There was the night of Blaine and Rachel’s fortieth high school reunion, just a few years prior, which they had finally attended together. Blaine had been able to stand proudly next to Kurt in the middle of a room filled with the very people who used to worry him the most. He introduced Kurt to as many of them as he could, and he watched the animosity and the acceptance play out across their faces in turns.  
  
Of course, the bad times didn’t stop just because their relationship found more solid footing. There was the night that Kurt was mugged on the way home from the theater, a night that left them both shaken and scared and grateful — because even though the man with the gun had tossed out several homophobic slurs and hissed that people like Kurt deserved to die, he’d been content to take Kurt’s wallet and not his life. There were the chilling days when some of their friends began to grow mysteriously ill, the fear of a death-sentence virus that no one understood. There was Finn’s car accident and Blaine’s skin cancer scare and, for a brief time during the eighties, his ill-advised flirtation with wearing a mustache that rivaled Tom Selleck’s.  
  
Then there were the things that were even worse — the times and challenges that threatened to tear them apart completely, like the messy divorce that capped Finn and Rachel’s turbulent relationship. When it became clear that the end was at hand, Kurt and Blaine had promised each other that they would stay as neutral as they could. It proved nearly impossible when Rachel or Finn or both would show up at the door of Kurt and Blaine’s _confirmed bachelor pad_  looking to talk or cry or fight. Oddly enough, Kurt ended up siding with Rachel and Blaine with Finn. In the end, the only way to protect their own relationship had been to put an arm’s length between themselves and the turmoil.  
  
It was the second closest they ever came to breaking it off completely. The first time was years before, when Blaine had been fired from his very first job out of law school after he accidentally let slip the name of his  _steady girlfriend_ in the wake of one too many gimlet cocktails at the firm’s Christmas party. His only consolation was that they let him go quietly, without spectacle, but he was left angry, embarrassed, and despite how much he wanted not to be, ashamed.  
  
Kurt had been furious and indignant, and then guilty. He was the one who first gave voice to the thought that their relationship might do them more harm than good. Blaine had disagreed, and then reluctantly admitted the possibility, and the fights had escalated daily. Finally, it was Kurt who forced them to put all of their cards on the table, and they both agreed that although the road they were walking was frustrating and difficult, they cared about each other too much to turn around or make a detour.  
  
In retrospect, being fired may have been a blessing in disguise — a phrase that Blaine wasn’t sure suited the situation — because if he’d kept that first job, he may never have had his long and ultimately more rewarding career with Legal Aid. Kurt’s career didn’t go exactly according to his plan either. Unfortunately, he never made it out of the chorus, and when he did, it wasn’t into larger roles. Instead, he rediscovered his knacks for both choreography and costume design, and he spent the next thirty years making productions shine from behind the scenes.  
  
And in between the milestone events in their shared lives, there were a multitude of smaller touchstones, and moments smaller still. The first day they’d felt comfortable enough to walk down the street with their arms linked. Sneaking away from Quinn’s wedding reception to slow dance together in a deserted hallway, whispering promises they didn’t think they’d ever be able to keep. A hundred thousand kisses and smiles and touches, days and nights and phone calls and birthday presents, each forgotten individually but blending together to create the rich tapestry of their lives, of  _them_.   
  
Blaine was interrupted from his musing when Kurt finished nattering around in the kitchen and eased into the chair across from him with a sandwich and the last of the morning’s coffee. The ring on his left hand caught the light and Blaine lightly touched his own. “You know,” he said, “I had really started to think this day would never come. At least not soon enough for us.”  
  
Kurt gave him a fond look, and then his expression went a little mischievous as he replied, “It’s about time you made an honest man out of me.”  
  
Blaine snorted out a laugh. “Well, you know what they say — why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”  
  
“Milk, Blaine?” Kurt asked, arching an eyebrow as he raised his coffee cup.  
  
But Blaine just rolled his eyes in response. Kurt’s attempts to scandalize him had stopped being effective long ago. Instead, he fixed Kurt with an affectionate glare. The years had undoubtedly changed his husband’s appearance, but Kurt’s eyes were still the same beautiful blue, and his heart was as fierce and loyal as ever. The mock irritation slipped off Blaine’s face, and he smiled. “I love you.”  
  
Kurt swallowed down his coffee and reached for Blaine’s hand. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Notes:** (story originally posted spring 2012; links may no longer be active)
> 
>   * Chicken asado is a Filipino dish. Sample recipes here: http://www.simplyfilipina.com/2012/01/chicken-asado.html and here: http://panlasangpinoy.com/2010/04/14/chicken-asado-asadong-manok-recipe/.
>   * The _New York Times_ article that I used as my inspiration is here: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/25/nyregion/after-long-wait-same-sex-couples-marry-in-new-york.html?_r=2&pagewanted=all.
>   * Tom Selleck's fabulous 80s mustache: http://www.realsea.net/photo/Tom-Selleck6690.jpg.
>   * Founded in 1876, the Legal Aid Society is a not-for-profit organization that provides free legal services for clients who cannot afford to pay for counsel. Their website is here: http://www.legal-aid.org/en/las/aboutus.aspx.
> 

> 
> MANY THANKS to my wonderful beta, Sandy (http://shandyall.livejournal.com and http://completelyunabashed.tumblr.com)! I owe her a huge debt of gratitude. If we hadn't become friends and without her encouragement, this story would never have seen the light of day.
> 
>  
> 
> **Last but not least THANK YOU FOR READING! This has been quite a journey, and I look forward to the next one. :)**

**Author's Note:**

>  **Chapter Notes:** (story originally posted in spring 2012; links may no longer be active)
> 
>   * Hiram's Dynamic 88 is the same car driven by Dr. Houseman in Dirty Dancing. You can see it here: http://www.imcdb.org/movie_92890-Dirty-Dancing.html. 
>   * The postcard that Rachel has back home was sent to Hiram by Max after the Berrys' reservation was confirmed. Rachel was so excited about the vacation that she confiscated it to hang in her room. It looks something like this: http://thepostcardattic.com/Mountain-Lake-Hotel-VA-Postcard-P2356903.aspx. (Mountain Lake Hotel is one of the locations where Dirty Dancing was filmed.)
>   * The magazine that Blaine finds in Hiram's drawer is the September 1961 edition of _One, The Homosexual Viewpoint_. You can see the cover and read "Letter to a G.I." if you scroll about two-thirds of the way down this page: http://www.queermusicheritage.us/mar2011b.html.
> 



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